CHAPTER 7: "The Calm Before the Storm"
As Felipe frantically scanned the plaza, trying to find the street that would take him back toward the barn, his palms grew sweaty. A sob rose in his throat; he fought to swallow it down.
I'm lost, he thought. Help me, God! Por favor!
In the next instant, a familiar voice screamed, "Felipe! Felipe!"
Felipe whirled toward the left. His mother rushed toward him, anxiety etched on her face. Her yellow shawl flapped incessantly.
"Mommy!" Felipe darted toward her and fell into her arms. "I was lost! I was scared!"
"Shh, you're safe, now." Consuela clasped him to her bosom until he stopped shaking. The smell of her perspiration enveloped the boy. "Let's go back, hijo mio. I got to cook supper." She glanced at the darkening sky. "It'll be dark, soon. Felipe, you had me scared, runnin' off like that!" she scolded.
"I'm sorry." Felipe buried his face in her bosom as she hugged him tightly.
Minutes later, inside the barn, Consuela paused to wag her finger. "Felipe, don't ever wander off like that again! You had me worried sick."
Felipe nodded. "Si, Mommy."
"In fact, don't leave this barn unless you tell me where you're goin,' and don't go into town unless I go with you." She wiped her perspiring face.
Reluctantly, Felipe nodded. He would have liked to explore the village in the future, but he had to obey his mother.
"Tomorrow, son, we'll go to town, you and me," Consuela promised. "We'll explore it together. Tonight, we got to stay in the barn. It's too late to play outside."
"Can I go anywhere in the barn?" Felipe bent over to scratch his big toe.
Consuela paused for a moment. "I'd rather you didn't. Not tonight. Everyone has to get ready for supper now, and you'll just get in their way."
Felipe nodded, and sat cross-legged on the hay-covered barn floor. His father had swept the hay out of one corner of the stall and built a firepit there. A fire blazed in it now, and Consuela's comal sat on top of the rocks. Consuela knelt there to prepare supper. A few moments later, three tortillas sizzled on the comal.
Juan soon joined them, and when supper was ready, all three sat on the floor. Consuela nodded to Felipe. The little boy bowed his head.
"Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord," Felipe prayed. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen." He made the sign of the cross and opened his eyes.
Father and son ate the fresh, hot tortillas and drank their clay cups of fresh, sweet goat's milk. As custom dictated, Consuela waited till her husband and son had eaten before she ate her share.
When Consuela had swallowed the last bite, the family members bowed their heads again. "We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for these and all Thy gifts, which we have received from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord," Consuela prayed. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen." Felipe blessed himself again, and looked up.
When Consuela had washed the dishes, she picked her wooden rosary up off the makeshift altar she had set up against the wall. "Time for evenin' prayers, son."
Felipe joined her next to the altar and bowed his head. His father had never joined his family for prayer or--except on rare occasions--attended Mass. Nor did he pray with his family now. He sat cross-legged in the opposite corner and drank his pulque, as always.
Kneeling on the hay-covered ground, Consuela and Felipe took turns praying with her rosary. As each prayed, he or she would finger the smooth, wooden beads to keep track of the decades. "Hail, Mary full of grace, pray for us now and in the hour of our death," they took turns praying. A sense of peace calmed Felipe's heart while they did. All the while, Felipe silently examined his conscience, as his mother and Padre Pablo had taught him.
When they had finished, Felipe unrolled his sleeping mat and lay down, said his bedtime prayers, and closed his eyes. Consuela kissed him good night.
The next morning, after breakfast, Juan left the barn to look around. Consuela arched her back and sighed. "Well, Felipe, shall we go explorin'?"
Felipe grinned broadly. He hopped up and down. "Si, Mommy! Si!" Laughing, his mother ruffled his hair. She draped her shawl around her shoulders, and Felipe donned his sombrero and his poncho.
The two of them left the barn to look around the town. A cool breeze caressed Felipe's cheeks and ruffled his hair as he trotted alongside his mother. They went up one street and down another, and explored each plaza. They stopped at each market stall to examine its wares.
All the while, Felipe couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that lay deep in his gut. A feeling, too deep in his heart for a seven-year-old to express, of impending disaster. A feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and soon. He hadn't had any nightmares since before the trip, nor did he think about them much, but from time to time, he'd had what felt like a premonition. That premonition welled up in him now, making a hint of nausea well up in his throat. Sweat broke out on his palms.
Nothin' bad's gonna happen, he told himself fiercely. Nothin'. Mommy and Papá won't let it!
At last, Consuela and Felipe walked toward the two structures that had greeted them upon their arrival. For a long moment, Felipe gaped at them, awed at their size and wondering what they were. A soldier told them that the huge, two-sided structure with the huge, rectangular holes was called a bastion.
"We built it recently in case there's a siege," he explained. "Some of the peons who live here have joined the rebel army, and the government doesn't like that too much. Some of the refugee peons stayin' in the barn have joined, too, since their arrival." He smiled wryly.
Suddenly, a mental picture of the nightmares Felipe had endured repeatedly rose before him now. In the same instant, he recalled his mother's conversation with his godmother about her terrifying vision of looking at the San Miguel plaza and not seeing any member of her family there. Were her vision and his nightmare going to come true? Felipe shivered.
"What's wrong?" Consuela furrowed her eyebrows as she glanced down at her frowning son.
"Mommy, what if--" Felipe paused. "Mommy, if anythin' real bad happens, what'll we do?"
Consuela knelt before him and kissed his soft cheek. "Well, son, if anything does, your papá and I'll do all we can to protect you. Like always." She smiled. "We won't let anythin' bad happen to you, Felipe." She patted his arm. The touch of her callused hand felt good on his arm.
Felipe smiled wanly. He didn't doubt for a minute that they would try to protect him, but for once, his heart was not reassured by her promise. The uneasy feeling still lay in the pit of his stomach. As they returned to town and went to the fountain to get a drink of water, Felipe silently prayed that God would protect them. The little boy thrust his index finger into his mouth and sucked it, as he so often did when nervous or frightened.
From the second night onward, the refugees gathered in the barn to sing, dance, and play music. Those who had their own musical instruments played lively folk songs. Everyone clapped their hands and sang, including Felipe and his parents.
After a while, someone would leap to his feet to dance. Soon, others would join him. Felipe would scramble to his feet and join the lively folk dance; soon, so would Consuela. Juan would stay seated on the floor or on a pile of hay, and drink his pulque.
Felipe's only regret, during those times, was that Godfather Lopez wasn't here to take part in the singing and dancing. With his mandolin, he could have really added to the fun. And before the fun began, he could have told stories to Felipe and Rafael, as he always had whenever they got together.
I love to sing, Felipe thought. It's such fun. I love to dance. I love hearin' stories, too!
By day, the Cortezes tried to make the daily schedule as normal as possible. Morning and night, Juan and Felipe fed, watered, and groomed the animals, and Felipe milked the she-goat. Since Consuela hadn't been able to bring with her the instruments necessary to spin cotton into thread, she was limited to weaving into cloth the thread she had brought with her. She would tie one end of the loom to a post and the other end around her waist, and weave as she always did. In addition, she spent part of her time grinding corn, as always. She made tortillas twice every day, for meals.
Consuela also wove hay to make baskets and mats. When the products were ready, mother and son would go into town to get some water from one of the plaza fountains, and to trade the straw goods for things they needed, including thread. A priest held Mass in the barn on Sundays and confession on Saturdays and Wednesdays. Felipe and his mother never failed to attend.
Felipe noticed that some of their fellow refugees were moving out of the barn. He wondered where they were going, and whether they were the same refugees who had joined the rebel army.
Juan had changed since the Cortez family had arrived here. Not only did he not get mad and violent as easily, he scarcely seemed to notice that his wife and son were there. He paid little attention to them. The few times Felipe tried to engage his father's attention, Juan would shoo him away as one would a pesky fly.
"Mommy, how come Papá won't talk to us?" Felipe complained, once, while he and his mother took their daily stroll through the crowded plazas. "When I say somethin', he says 'Go away, Felipe; I'm busy!"
Consuela sighed. "He's got somethin' big on his mind, and he can't stop thinkin' about it." Felipe frowned, as he wondered what that could be.
A few days later, two weeks after the Cortezes had arrived in this unfamiliar pueblo, Consuela and Felipe walked into town, as usual, each carrying several straw objects. This time, Juan came with them.
"I need to get me some pulque," he said, shortly, when his wife asked him what he was going to do. Consuela said no more. Juan tilted his gray felt sombrero to protect his face from the sun. His brown jacket hung unbuttoned over his gray cotton vest and white, unbleached shirt; his woolen sash held up his brown trousers. Felipe had donned his own white shirt and matching trousers. He had left his poncho and serape in the barn.
As Consuela traded the mats and baskets for some corn and beans, Felipe played by himself in the plaza. He pretended he was a bullfighter, then played that he was a vaquero. Once, he saw his father talking with a peon he'd seen in the barn several times before. Juan pressed his lips into a tight line, then stalked away. When Felipe's parents had gotten what they had come to get, the three returned to the barn.
As they entered the stall, the three family members froze. "The goats! The burro!" Juan's bronze face turned beet-red as he spoke. "They're gone!"
Felipe's heart plummeted to the bottom of his stomach. The animals had indeed vanished. The family possessions lay arranged as they had for two weeks, but the burro and goats were not there.
Felipe raced toward the front entrance. What about the hay cart? Was it gone, too?
He spent the next several minutes outside, searching for the cart, but could not find it. It had disappeared, too. When his parents came outside to look for him, Felipe rushed toward them.
"I can't find the hay cart!" He grabbed his mother's sleeve. "It's gone, too!"
Juan pressed his lips into a tight line. "They're all gone!"
Felipe noticed that the other wagons and carts lining the outside of the barn had also disappeared. Juan marched toward the edge of the barn and disappeared around the corner. His wife and son stood silently and waited for him to return. A breeze caressed Felipe's face and ruffled his brown hair, but he paid no attention to it.
Minutes later, Juan rejoined them. "They're not anywhere. No one's even seen them. All we've got left is the pushcart." His voice sounded grim. "And we're not gonna get 'em back, either. Someone stole the other peons' animals and wagons and carts, too. The soldiers, no doubt." Juan pressed his lips together into a thin line. "The alcalde's not even goin' to try to help us get our things back!" His voice rose in anger as he spoke. He swore.
Consuela moaned and leaned against the wall. Felipe's hands shook. "The rebel soldiers?" Consuela's voice shook.
Juan shook his head. "No. The--the others. The government soldiers." He glared fiercely toward at the barn entrance. "We've been branded rebels, Consuela. Every peon stayin' in this barn! You know that peon I talked with in town?" His wife nodded. "He told me. They've taken all our carts and wagons so we can't escape." He grimaced. "Without our burro and cart, we're stuck."
"Oh, Juan, what are we goin' to do?" Consuela took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross.
Juan sighed. "I don't know." He paused. "But we got to do somethin'. We've been here for two weeks now; surely, our alcalde'll be sendin' for us, soon. We got to start seein' about gettin' us a new cart and burro. If we can't, we'll just have to walk back to San Miguel. Later, we'll have to see about a couple of new goats." He shook his head. "You better pray for us, Consuela. We're in real trouble! All of us!"
Consuela took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. Felipe knew what that meant. She meant to endure this new misfortune without a word of complaint. What couldn't be cured had to be endured.
Hesitantly, Felipe wrapped his arms around his crestfallen mother. "I love you, Mommy."
Consuela smiled wanly and hugged him back. "I love you, too, son." She kissed his forehead. "You're the best son anyone could pray for." Felipe smiled.
That evening, the refugees got together to sing and dance, as they had every night for two weeks. The enjoyment was not genuine, though; to Felipe, it sounded forced. As always, however, he loved the singing, dancing, and music, but this time, he couldn't stop wishing that his father had been able to find the burro and the goats. He did not want to walk all the way back to San Miguel! Nor could he stop wondering why they were in trouble, and what his father had meant about their being branded rebels.
Soon, Felipe started yawning. His surroundings looked slightly blurred, so he rubbed his eyes. After making a valiant effort to stay awake, he leaned against his mother's side and closed his eyes. The music and singing went on and on.
Suddenly, a distant boom! startled him. He opened his eyes; it was morning, and he was lying on his sleeping mat. His parents were gaping at each other, their faces pale, their hands shaking. What on earth had happened?
END OF CHAPTER 7