Across the Great River Read online

  “We will worry about that later. That I promise, Doña Anita. I shall return.” He makes the sign of the cross upon his heart, then races to the truck, which coughs and sputters as it speeds out of sight.

  The woman has no trouble carrying Mama into the house. I follow with Pablito. She grumbles as she lays Mama on the only bed in the room, then she motions for us to sit in the corner. As I move to the dark corner, she throws a blanket which hits me on the back of the head. I pick it up and pull Pablito over to the corner.

  For a few minutes Pablito sits quietly beside me, staring at the woman’s giant shadow against the bare wall. When he falls asleep, I leave him and go over to the bed to see what this horrid woman is doing to Mama.

  “She’s a pretty one,” she mutters as she removes Mama’s wet clothes.

  I watch her every move. Into her hands she rubs a smelly lotion, then with her thick fingers she digs into the wound and blood flows out. She presses harder and the blood trickles down Mama’s side. She picks up another bottle and pours it over the blood, and then she sighs heavily. I do not like the idea of this strange woman touching Mama.

  She stops working and stares at me. “Be of use, girl! Get me a pail of water. Move!”

  Her foul breath almost knocks me over, but I cross my arms and refuse to move. “No!”

  “You want your Mama to live?” she asks. Her twisted face makes my heart jump to my throat.

  Frightened, I turn to where she points. I find a pail of water much too heavy, so I take a small pan and fill it. I return and hand her the water and it is then that I notice that she has removed all of Mama’s clothing. She covers her with a blanket. I look at Mama’s clothes heaped on the floor and I feel I should hang them neatly so that they will be dry for her to wear in the morning.

  The woman pulls the lantern closer and hunches over Mama. “Ah, the shot went through. It’s good, if she has not lost too much blood.” She holds out her hand and orders, “Give me a towel, a wet one.”

  I stare at Mama’s wound, which seems to be a small hole, all swollen and blue. “Shot? Did you say shot?” I stammer.

  “Yes. Now, will you give me a towel!”

  I start to shake and then I scream, “Mama will die!”

  She moves around the bed and slaps my face. It stings like a thousand bees attacking me. “Girl! Stop it! I need your help. Get control of yourself and give me that towel!”

  Her shouts move me into action. I must help Mama. “Si, yes, señora!” I turn to fetch the towel.

  I stand watching the old one work. Her hands move rapidly from one jar to another and never seem to stop. I marvel at her speed for such a fat woman. Occasionally, she closes both eyes and bends down to listen to Mama’s chest, then she grunts as if she were about to throw up. Never once does she look up from her work, and I watch very closely as her healing hands tend to Mama’s wound. She truly has a gift from God, I decide.

  “Hand me that whisky that sits on the table!”

  I fetch it and watch as she pours it over the wound and over the pricks that scar Mama’s arm.

  “That should do it. Now, all we have to do is pray.” She bandages the wound. “Do you know how to pray, girl?”

  “A little,” I mutter, backing away from the breeze of her stinking breath and the ugly blood-shot, blinking eye.

  “Good. You must pray for your Mama,” she snaps while wiping her hands on her skirt.

  I have Mama’s beads, so I go to the corner to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” I say over and over until I cannot remember a thing.

  It is the crowing of the rooster that wakes me to find Pablito sitting on the old one’s lap, eating a tortilla. The hag seems to enjoy playing with him while she urges him to eat more.

  “Ah, you are awake, girl. You must have been very tired.”

  I rise and go over to the table. She is uglier now than last night. With one eye she stares straight at me and she stares down at Pablito with the other blinking one. It seems as though she looks two places at one time. I look away from her twisted face. “Mama? How is Mama?” I go over to the bed and Mama seems very pale in the daylight.

  “She has not stirred. I forced some soup down her, but not very much. Perhaps by this evening she will come out of it.”

  She puts Pablito down on the floor. “Come, eat something or you will faint.” She puts a plate of beans and rice on the table. Each time she moves I notice that the fat on her body swings in different directions. It seems she has no bones. She heats a tortilla and she brings it to me with a cup of hot coffee.

  I eat as if I’ve never seen food. I want to lick the plate, but she stands there watching like a vulture. After I finish, she removes the plate and sits in the chair across from me. I shrink as far back into my chair as I dare go.

  “We must talk. What’s your name, girl?”

  “Katarina Campos.”

  “Bueno. Good. I shall call you Kata. Where do you come from?”

  “San Carlos, Mexico. Do you know where it is?” I ask.

  “Yes, it’s a little village across the border. Now you are just outside Eagle Pass, Texas.”

  “Do you know anything about Papa?” I blurt out.

  “No, not yet. Perhaps, we shall soon hear.”

  I turn sideways in my chair. I do not want to cry in front of the witch, so I bite my lips hard.

  “That fellow, Chente, has not returned. Such a foolish man! How much money did your Papa give them to smuggle your family across?”

  “Smuggle? What is that?”

  Her laughter boxes my ears and I feel faint from the sight of the grey covered eyeball which blinks open and closed.

  “Girl! It’s illegal to cross the border without papers. Do you have papers?”

  Not knowing anything about papers, I say nothing.

  “You and your family have broken the law. Do you know what that means?” She watches me like a hawk. One good eye is staring straight into me and the grey covered one is blinking rapidly. “No!” she boldly answer herself. “You are but a child, but your Mama and your Papa know! If they find you, they will send you all back to Mexico. First, you will have to spend time in jail. It’s a penalty for breaking the law.”

  “Jail!” I shout. “Papa would not let that happen.”

  She rises, muttering curses to the devil, then goes out the front door carrying the pail.

  How could Papa let this happen? Did he make it across the river safely? How will he know where we are? Tears fill my eyes and this time I cannot stop them from flowing. I pick up Pablito and hold him tightly. “Pablito, it’s you and me … at least, until Mama wakes up, and I will be glad when she does.” I squeeze him hard, and he cries out.

  I sit on the edge of the bed, holding Mama’s cold hand and staring at her frozen face in which I cannot see any movement. I pull the blankets up tighter around her and bend to kiss her cheek.

  The old one mentioned papers. I remember the pouch, so I go to the door and look out to see that the witch is in the garden hoeing. I lift my skirt and undo the straps of the pouch. In it I find some paper money, a few Mexican coins that fall onto my lap and the yellow stone that the shadow so greatly admired. I take the stone and it feels rough in my fingers. It is unusual in that it has smaller rocks of a different shade planted in it. I shake the pouch, then look inside, but there are no papers with writing on them.

  “What are we going to do now?” I stuff everything back into the pouch, then I tie it around my waist. I straighten my skirt and peek out to the garden where the witch is still hoeing.

  Shortly, she returns to the house. She grunts as she lays the hoe against the porch, then lifts her skirt over her wrinkled ankles to enter the house. Cutting a path to Mama, she stands there studying Mama’s face for several moments, then turns abruptly and motions for me to follow.

  “There is no sense in wasting the day, girl. Come! There are many things to do around this ranchito.”

  “Like what, señora?” I ask, keeping a safe distanc
e from her.

  She stops in her tracks. “Like feeding the chickens, gathering peppers and tomatoes and then watering the garden.” Her arms move in a wide sweeping motion. “And if you are still not tired by the time the sun falls, you can sweep the house.”

  I follow her out the rear door to the shed, where she hands me a metal pan. “Now, take this corn and go feed the chickens.” She takes a handful of feed and spreads it on the ground. “Like this, see. The chicken pen is behind this shed. After all the feed is gone, gather the eggs and bring them inside.”

  I set about the task, understanding that we must pay for our keep in some manner. After I finish that chore, she sends me to gather green peppers and after an hour, I feel like my back has been broken into hundreds of pieces.

  I take the peppers into the house, then go back to the old well to draw some cool drinking water. I throw in the old bucket that is sitting on the ledge and watch as it falls into the dark hole. It seems like many seconds pass and yards of rope fall before I hear the bucket splash down.

  I start cranking the handle to bring up the bucket. It is heavy, so I lean against the edge of the well. A few loose bricks fall out of place and drop into the deep hole below. Frightened, I let go of the crank. The crank begins to spin rapidly and it knocks me backwards onto the ground. I rise and shake the dust off my skirt and decide that the drink will have to wait.

  “Kata!” she screams. “While you are out there, pull up a potato or two for supper.”

  “Where are they?” I scream back.

  “In the garden, girl. Where else would they be?”

  I look over the rows of plants. I cannot find the potatoes, so I go up to the back porch. “I do not know which is the potato plant.”

  “That girl does not know a potato plant from a sunflower. May the Lord have mercy on her inexperienced soul. But she is lucky, for I will teach her many things while she stays with me.”

  I bow my head, feeling very foolish, but I do not say I am sorry. She slams the screen door, then passes me in a huff, so much so that her skirt seems to slap me in the face.

  I follow her to the potato plants and watch as she digs deep into the earth. “Watch, girl. It is not hard to find potatoes. Now, see if you can bring me in four or five for our supper.” As she rises and turns, her skirt seems to fan out and throw dirt at me.

  Later, we sit around the table, eating supper. Pablito sits on her lap and giggles. He likes her, but I am not so comfortable, so I glance across the room to Mama, who still sleeps.

  “Perhaps tomorrow she will wake up,” she says in a much softer voice than she had used all day.

  Our eyes meet. Her good one is red-brown and narrow like a speck. Her bad one is grey-blue, almost cloud-like. Her hair is red-brown mixed with much gray. It almost looks dead.

  “What is your name?” I ask bravely.

  “Anita. Anita Morales.”

  “Have you no children?”

  “I have no need for children!” she answers sharply.

  I feel as if she has slapped me again. I ask no further questions. I just eat my beans in silence, watching her and Pablito play together. Perhaps she likes boys instead of girls. Maybe it is because he’s still a baby and everyone loves babies. That’s why she likes him, I decide, because he’s harmless and loveable.

  A sharp knock pierces the room and I jump out of my chair. Again the knock, but this time much harder.

  Anita motions for me to remain quiet, then she walks over to the door. “Who is it”

  “Chente. Please, Doña Anita, open up!”

  “Ah, you foolish man. You’re more trouble than your hide is worth!” She curses under breath, then opens the door to let him step inside.

  He stoops as he comes through the door. Then he removes his hat and stands waiting for Anita to invite him further into the house. Anita stands rooted and does not speak. Her arms are crossed over her huge hanging breasts.

  He glances over at Mama, then nods to me before he speaks. “We have not found him, señora. Our fear is that he was shot and has floated downstream. We could not even find his guitar. There are many agents covering the area, making it impossible for us to get any closer.”

  “You mulehead!” shouts Anita.

  “Yes, señora. My compadre and I are going into hiding until things cool off!”

  “You donkey! What am I to do with these children and that sick woman?” Anita grabs him by the collar and pulls him to her.

  He closes his eyes and turns his face as Anita blows her fowl breath into his nose. He shrugs slightly, offering no suggestions. “I cannot say, señora.”

  “A donkey’s ass! You must pay me for their keep. The woman is sick and cannot work or travel. She could die! What if they check this place?” She releases his shirt and throws him against the closed door.

  “I think not, señora. We will not betray you.” He bends at the knees slowly to pick up his hat. “Besides, no one ever comes out here.”

  Anita steps toward him and he shrinks against the door in fear. “Give me money, you goat of Satan! Or I will put a curse on you that will never be removed!” Her fat arms are flying all over the place, and her fingers seem to turn into sharp thorns as she approaches him. The man appears faint, but he does not take his eyes off her.

  I cry out, knowing that she does not want us or our troubles, but I do not care. I fall to my knees on hearing that Papa is gone and shall never return. It is as if I have been pierced by a sharp arrow dipped in poison. Tears flow and I cover my eyes and mouth with my hands. Pablito comes over to me and leans against me for comfort, but I still shake and gasp for air.

  Chapter Three

  With shaking hands, the man reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a roll of bills from which he takes three and hands them to Anita.

  “Stupid!” yells Anita at the top of her lungs. She suddenly lunges forward and yanks the roll out of his hands. “Get out of my sight!” she warns.

  The man stumbles out the door and hurries to the truck. Anita jerks open the door and chases after him, raging like a mad bull.

  The shouting and cursing frightens Pablito and he begins to cry. I try to calm him, but as miracles go, his violent cries enter Mama’s ears. She gasps, then moans loudly. Her eyes flutter open as she turns slowly to search the room for us.

  “Kata? Pablito? Where are you? Where is Carlos?”

  I pick up Pablito and rush to the bed. “Here, Mama!”

  “Thank the Lord!” She reaches out to touch my hand, but the pain in her arm shoots out. She recoils like a snake.

  “Be still, señora. You should not move. You need rest.”

  Mama’s eyes dart toward Anita and searches Anita’s face for recognition. “I do not know you.”

  “You are in my home. You were brought here last night by some men, the kind that look for easy money. Fear not, the scoundrels shall be punished. I have put a curse on them.”

  “Carlos? Where is Carlos?” Mama turns to me for the answer.

  I am about to tell her when the old one stares at me with such a strong gleam that it catches my eye and mind. It is as if I am able to read her thoughts.

  Anita answers, “He will return later.” She glances up at me and seems to wink with her good eye. “Rest now, señora. You need your strength.” She lays her fat hand over Mama’s forehead, then closes both her crooked eye and her good one. She chants under her breath and Mama falls into an instant sleep.

  I gasp. “Are you a witch?”

  Anita roars and as quickly as the laughter began, it stops. She stares straight at me. “No, I am not a witch. I am a healer, and a seer. I work for God, not for the devil. Remember, there is a difference.”

  I do not want to show my ignorance, so I do not ask further questions, for I am glad for whatever miracle she has worked. She brought Mama back to me and for that I owe her much.

  Anita stands and looks down at Mama. “She will be fine in a few days.” She turns to the cot on which she sleeps. “Let’s res
t now.”

  That night I sleep peacefully, knowing that Mama will soon be well.

  The next morning I awake to find Anita and Pablito still sleeping. I glance up at the window where the sun already shines in brightly, then I sit up and rub my eyes. I listen to Mama’s breathing, which comes in and out slowly, and to Anita’s mild snore. Pablito stirs, then sits up, too. He is wet, so I get a towel to change him. He coos when he feels the dry towel between his legs, then he smiles happily.

  “Hush, Pablito. The old one is still sleeping,” I whisper.

  Anita turns in her cot. “No, I am not sleeping, only resting.” The cot squeaks as she sits up. “Today is Sunday, so we sleep late. No work on Sunday, just eat and rest.”

  “I am glad, señora,” I reply.

  Anita rises and slips her skirt over her long gown, then pulls on a blouse. Over that she ties an apron, and then she goes out to the porch to wash her face and hands.

  I rise and pick the hay from my skirt and hair, then I go out the back door to the outhouse. Pablito tags behind me. I sit on the wooden seat and watch as Pablito opens and closes the door, squealing in delight each time it slams hard before me. Then he decides to yank off my panties which lay gathered at my ankles, but I close my legs so that he cannot get them off my feet.

  “No! Pablito, don’t do that!” I warn. “Go play with the chickens.” But he does not obey. He pulls harder and almost yanks me off the wooden seat. “Pablito!” I beg. “Por favor, please, go play!”

  He is distracted by a wild bunny that hops by and he forgets about my panties and chases after the bunny. I watch as he stops to pick up a stick and tries to hit the bunny who has hidden under a clump of firewood.

  “No, Pablito! Don’t hit the bunny. He’s a nice baby bunny.” But he goes right on chasing it from log to log. The bunny finally disappears under the pile of logs and refuses to come out. Then Pablito starts crying.

  I pick him up and take him into the house where Anita is cooking breakfast. “Hurry up and eat, for we must clean up before Don Juan comes for dinner.”

  “Who is Don Juan?” I ask, putting Pablito on a chair.