“Yes, that’s Cal, and I’m Melanie.”
“Mel …” She hesitated.
“Mel is good. That’s what my sister calls me. You can call me Mel.” I patted my upper chest again. “Mel.”
“Mel,” she repeated, pleased with the ease of Cal and Mel.
I pointed to her. “What’s your name?”
She touched her chest, and with a gentle smile, she rolled off her name like a well-rehearsed line of a beloved poem: “Rosarita Guadalupe Yolanda Rosario Valdepariso.” Then after a pause she shortened it to “Rosa Lupe.”
“Rosa,” I said.
“Rosa Lupe,” she corrected me.
“Rosa Lupe.”
“We have cake.” Cal pointed to the pathetically smashed cake box. “Do you want some cake?”
Rosa Lupe opened the box and let out a delighted cluck of her tongue.
“It doesn’t look like much.” I shook my head. “But it tastes good. Please, have some.”
I made the same sort of gestures she had made when trying to get us to eat more.
With a childish grin, Rosa Lupe wiped off her knife and cut a modest sliver.
“Go ahead.” I motioned some more. “Please, eat it.”
Her eyes opened wide as the cake went into her mouth. She made all kinds of yummy sounds as she swallowed the chocolate, and with a womanly smack of her lips, she declared, “¿Delicioso!”
I grinned and nodded.
What was that we heard on the cruise? No true Sisterchick can turn down really good chocolate. I believe it now! Sisterchicks are everywhere!
The front door opened, and Rosa Lupe’s husband entered without a lantern. He nodded to us humbly, as if he were interrupting something instead of Cal and me being the interrupters of his evening. We were eating his dinner.
Standing with his back to us, Mr. Valdepariso discussed something in hushed tones with his wife. It didn’t matter what he was trying to say so privately. Cal and I couldn’t understand him anyway.
“I bet they’re talking about where we’re all going to sleep,” Cal said to me in a low voice, leaning closer.
“We’re not spending the night here,” I said.
“You’re not? Where are you going?”
“San Felipe. How long did it take you guys to get here from San Felipe?”
“A long time. Like an hour.”
“An hour? I didn’t think it was that far.”
“You can’t go very fast on the road,” Cal said. “Especially if your car keeps breaking down like ours.”
“Were you planning to spend the night here?”
Cal nodded. “Out in the straw in the barn. That’s where I said I want to sleep.”
“You may get your wish.” My eyebrows caved in with the worry weight of the world now sitting on top of my head. It was one thing to offer a ride a few miles out of our way and to accept a meager meal prepared by Rosa Lupe. But expecting these kind people to find lodging for all of us in their hacienda was far too much to ask.
Cal apparently was right, though, because soon after Mr. Valdepariso went back outside, and Rosa Lupe took me over to the hanging green sheet. She pulled back the curtain, and with an all-encompassing sweep, she indicated that their bedroom was at our disposal.
I touched her shoulder and smiled as sincerely as I could. “We can’t take your bed. This is your home. You and your husband need to sleep here.”
She didn’t understand me, so I reverted to the one word I knew was the same in both languages, “No.” I pointed to the small bed with the torn blue-and-white bedspread covering it and neatly smoothed out to the corners. “No, we can’t sleep in your bed. We’ll sleep somewhere else.”
“In the barn,” Cal added.
I don’t know what Cal had pictured in his mind for a barn-sleeping experience, but I was pretty sure the Valdeparisos didn’t exactly have the fresh-straw-filled sort of barn that kids in the movies run around and jump in.
Rosa Lupe kept talking and motioned for us to follow her outside. We walked several yards in the light of the lantern. I looked up to the inky dark canopy above us and involuntarily gasped. The heavens were alive with thousands of brilliant stars bursting through the night sky It was wondrous, providing a quiet luminescence of its own.
“Estrellas.” Rosa Lupe looked up with me.
“Es-tray-yaws,” I repeated. “Stars. Es-tray-yaws.”
“Si. Estrellas. ¿Bonitas, no?”
“Yes, they’re beautiful,” I said. “It’s a beautiful night.” Even though it was much cooler than it had been during the day, the air didn’t feel at all like the winter air did on a clear night at home. I filled my lungs with the chilled oxygen and knew that my sister would really like this—the stars, the air, the beauty of this unfamiliar place.
Rosa Lupe stopped in front of a smelly area where I envisioned the little piggy’s family enjoying a merry wallow in a swamp of mud and mess. Cal was given the task of carrying the lantern, and he was swinging it every which way so I couldn’t see how frightening the animal area really was.
Rosa Lupe said something and then kept walking, leading us past the animal area to another adobe structure. This dwelling had a central area inside with a table, a long bench, and a small area that looked as if it had been used for cooking.
An uncovered doorway led us to the second room where we found Joanne and Matthew working together. They were making the final loop of a long bandage that was wrapped around the patient’s leg. A primitive splint ran under his leg all the way up his thigh. His torn pant leg was stained with blood. I could only imagine what this man must have gone through in the hours between when he broke his leg and when we arrived.
He looked up at us from a bed covered by only a crumpled blanket stained with blood. On the floor I noticed two empty tequila bottles. His eyes rolled back, and I thought, That man is stinking drunk!
The mother in me wanted to shield young Cal from this startling sight. I wanted to take him back outside to look at the beautiful stars. But in the severe honesty of this remote place, it seemed fitting to let the boy see life as it was.
I offered the patient a sympathetic nod and what I hoped was a comforting smile. In the depths of my heart I knew that if I’d broken my leg so severely that the bone had punctured the skin and if no immediate medical assistance or pain relievers were available, I might have been tempted to get thoroughly drunk as well.
“Mel, do you have any aspirin with you?” Joanne asked.
“I might. In my purse. I left it in the Jeep.” Stating aloud that I had willingly left my purse in an open vehicle shocked me. At home I won’t even leave my purse in a shopping cart at the grocery store. I have to have it over my shoulder at all times. What had happened inside my head to allow me to leave my purse unsecured and to walk away from it without a second thought?
The startling truth was that I trusted these people and this situation and maybe even trusted God that this was His idea for us to be here.
“He won’t need the aspirin until morning,” Matthew said. “But if you have any you can spare, I’m sure he’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Sure. Of course.”
After a fair amount of discussion that flowed through Matthew, since he was the interpreter for both sides, it became clear the only sensible option was for all of us to stay here for the night.
“Hombres aqui,” Rosa Lupe said.
“This is where the guys sleep,” Matthew interpreted. “The three of you women will have the main house. The señora says we are welcome to come and eat.”
“It’s delicious.” I smiled at Rosa Lupe. “¿Delicioso!”
She grinned back at me.
“I’ll clean up here and see you in the morning,” Matthew said.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Joanne asked him.
“No, I’m fine. Cal and I will bed down for the night. You ready to get some sleep, Cal?”
The adventuresome young man had lifted one of the tequila bottles and was snif
fing it. “Okay.”
I looked around. The only bed was the one occupied by the now-snoring patient. The table and bench in the other room might work as beds, but I saw no extra blankets. The floor was dirt.
“Do you two have sleeping bags or air mattresses or anything?” I asked Matthew.
He seemed amused by my question, and I realized how ridiculous it was. I knew he only had the small duffel bag with him. He and Cal were wearing sweatshirts but had no coats or extra blankets. If the Valdeparisos had extra bedding, I was certain they would have offered it by now.
“You can use our blankets,” my generous sister said before I could inform her that the other house had only one bed and no extra bedding waiting for us in some hidden linen closet.
“Are you sure?” Matthew asked.
“Yes. Is that okay with you, Melanie?”
Everyone but the drunken man stared at me. All I could say was, “Of course.”
At least we still have our coats.
I pictured myself wrapped in my winter coat, lying on the edge of the tiles that partially covered the floor while my feet were being inspected by the roving piglet in the middle of the night.
This can’t be happening. Not really. Any minute now I’ll wake up, and Ethan will tell me I was talking in my sleep, and I’ll tell him about this crazy dream. We’ll laugh together and…
It struck me that according to my sister’s view of life, this very well could be a dream. God’s dream. Not necessarily my dream.
Rosa Lupe and her husband left one of the lanterns with Matthew and Cal and used the other to lead Joanne and me back to the house. I watched the couple grasp hands as we walked. Tapping Joanne’s shoulder I pointed up at the grand recital of the celestial cast of stars overhead.
“Ohhh!” Joanne sighed at the beauty, just like I knew she would. “Look at that!”
“Entranas bonitas,” I said, eager to show off my new Spanish words to my sister.
Rosa Lupe stopped walking and turned around. They both looked at me as I tried out my new words one more time.
“¿Entranas bonitas?” I said.
Rosa Lupe released a tender chuckle. Her husband grinned widely and told me something in Spanish. I’d obviously not said “beautiful stars.” In the morning I’d ask Matthew to interpret for me and find out how badly I had slaughtered what was meant to be a sincere expression of praise.
“No matter how you say it, the stars are beautiful,” Joanne murmured.
“Yes,” I said, sticking with English. “It’s an incredibly beautiful night.”
Our host couple helped us lift our undisturbed luggage and purses from the open Jeep and insisted on carrying them for us. We entered the house, and the first thing I noticed was a dark bug at least an inch long scuttling on creepy, short, skinny legs across the table. As soon as the light shone in its direction, the hideous insect skittered away from the covered food so quickly it seemed to disappear. I watched the floor to see where it went, but in the glow of the lantern, I caught sight of no unwanted creature.
“La cucaracha,” Rosa Lupe said with great distain.
I recognized that word. As a child I’d heard a song with that word: La cucaracha, la cucaracha…
“Cockroach,” Joanne said quietly.
“A la cucaracha is a cockroach?”
She nodded.
“I always thought the song was about a little bird.”
“I guess it was about a cockroach,” Joanne said mournfully. “How horrid to sing about a cockroach.”
“I know. That couldn’t have been a cockroach on the table, though. It was too big.” Our cockroaches at home were the size of a thumbnail. I’d only run into a few in my career as a housekeeper, and they were polite enough to check into the Roach Motel traps I set for them on the very first night the motels opened for business. I didn’t imagine Rosa Lupe had any Roach Motels set up in the corners.
“It was a cockroach, all right,” Joanne said. “They grow big in the tropics. Trust me.”
I scanned the floor a second time. Suddenly I wanted the little pig to come back in and busily snoot about.
“I’m not sure I can do this.” I lowered my voice as if Rosa Lupe could understand me.
She was busy motioning for Joanne to sit down and to eat. I wondered what the cactus tasted like cold. At least the ceramic bowl that covered the plate of food had kept the unwanted dinner guests away.
“What are you saying?” Joanne asked. “What can’t you do? Eat this food?”
“No, I already ate a lot. It’s very good. I don’t know if I can sleep with the cockroaches and the pigs.”
“Melanie.” Joanne gave me a withering look. “No pigs are in here.”
“There was one!”
Joanne shook her head, as if she didn’t believe me. I wanted to see her world rocked just the tiniest bit. Just once. I needed to be reminded that she was human after all. Obviously blood and broken bones didn’t turn her stomach. The cockroach hadn’t fazed her. As she sat down at the table, I said, “See the green stuff? It’s cactus.”
“Right.” She shook her head.
“It is. Just ask Rosa Lupe. We went outside and picked it for supper, and then I watered the cactus.”
Joanne looked as me, as if I were thoroughly entertaining. “Cacti don’t need water.”
“This one did.”
Mr. and Mrs. Valdepariso ceased their conversation and observed our sisterly banter while exchanging a knowing look.
“¿Hermanas?” Rosa Lupe pointed to the two of us with her finger wagging back and forth.
“Yes, we’re sisters,” Joanne said, as if she understood what Rosa Lupe was asking. “Is it that obvious? Our mother used to say we were ‘almost twins.’ Of course, Mel and I never agreed with her. But then I don’t know that we grew up agreeing about a lot of things.”
Rosa Lupe nodded politely, as if she understood every word and then launched into her own story in Spanish. I had no idea what she was saying, but Joanne listened as if she might catch a word or two she understood.
Mr. Valdepariso joined Joanne at the table, and the two of them finished off the rest of the tortillas and cactus-bean dip.
“It’s green beans,” Joanne said.
“No, it’s cactus,” I pressed. “It just tastes like green beans.”
Rosa Lupe presented the dilapidated remains of the cake to her husband, as if it were a great prize. He made some sort of appreciative-sounding comment while she served him a large piece with what appeared to be the only fork in the house.
I leaned back in the wobbly chair and thought of how much Mr. Valdepariso reminded me of Robert, who had ordered three desserts at the dinner table on the ship the night before.
Was that really only last night? I can’t believe it.
Twenty-four hours earlier my sister and I had dined on escargot, prime rib, and crème brûlée. Tonight it was hand-flattened tortillas with beans and cactus and chocolate cake. I didn’t think my imagination could handle what dinner might consist of tomorrow night or where we might dine.
The contrast between the cruise ship and the country casa became even more acute when Joanne and I finally understood the intended sleeping arrangements. Mr. Valdepariso left after he ate to join the other hombres. Joanne and I were to share the prized bed with Rosa Lupe. All three of us in a double bed. Hopefully, without cockroaches.
Before we bedded down, Rosa Lupe led Joanne and me to the outhouse located a hundred yards behind their home. We took turns holding the lantern outside, and let’s just say it was a wise choice not to have too much light illuminating the situation inside the outhouse. I never knew I could hold my breath so long.
Washing up inside the house with the ceramic pitcher and basin, I told Joanne I wished we had brought the cruise ship robes with us.
Her reply was, “True. They would have made a nice gift for Rosa Lupe and her husband, but I don’t think they would have understood the principle behind the luxury of a French terry cloth
robe.”
I was thinking the robes would have been nice for us, but I didn’t say that.
We both opted for our sweatpants and T-shirts, layered under sweaters. The color combinations were not at all stylish, but we were warm. We were also blessed. I realized when I opened my suitcase and had a half-dozen articles of clothing available to me that, even though what I brought with me represented only a fraction of my wardrobe, it was still twice what Rosa Lupe probably had.
She slept in a long flannel nightgown that was rubbed through in some spots. Her long hair came down for a quick combing and then went back up in a twist on the back of her head.
Pulling back the worn comforter and the top sheet, Rosa Lupe made a welcoming motion, indicating that Joanne and I should have first choice of positions. The bed didn’t have pillows and there was no bottom sheet covering the mattress. Joanne and I had brought our coats with us to drape over our feet, but in the close quarters, with three in the small bed, it soon became apparent we wouldn’t need the coats.
“I don’t mind sleeping in the middle,” my saintly sister said. “Last night I slept with a swan. Tonight I’ll sleep with two swans.”
“Sweet,” I said, remembering the folded-up swan towel from the cruise ship.
Rosa Lupe doused the lantern just as I was crawling into bed next to Joanne. The bed bounced up and down as Rosa Lupe got comfortable on the other side. Joanne and I were both on our backs, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Her foot wandered over and gave my bare foot a friendly hello tickle.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I teased her.
Joanne giggled.
Rosa Lupe let out a long, contented breath and began to recite in the darkness. A poem? No, the reverence with which she spoke made me think it was a prayer. Her rounded Spanish syllables rolled over us sweet and tender as a mother’s cool hand on a feverish forehead. I felt calmed and no longer giggly. The day was done. The time for sleep had come.
“Amen,” Rosa Lupe whispered.
“Amen,” Joanne echoed.
“Amen.”
It was the last word I remembered hearing from my own dry throat until some time in the middle of the deep, dark night when Joanne yelled in my ear, “No, don’t let him drown!”