The Butterfly’s Daughter (39 page)

“One of the girls I met on this trip, Ofelia, made me think of you,” Luz told Mariposa. “She was really sweet and I loved her. But she had this mouth.”

Mariposa turned to look at her from under raised brows.

Luz rolled her eyes and chuckled. “No, not that way. It was more that she was the same age you were when you had me.”

“Was she the one who was abused by her boyfriend?”

“Yes. She was pregnant and alone in a city she didn't know. For you it was Milwaukee, for her Chicago. It made me wonder. Did my father beat you?”

Mariposa kept her eyes on the road and didn't reply for a full minute. “Well, honey, I've been beaten,” she replied. “More than a few times over the years. One guy gave me this scar here.” She pointed to the faint scar near her mouth. “And another a scar here.” She reached up to open her blouse wider to reveal a thick, jagged
scar high on her right shoulder that looked like a stab wound. “I've been beaten by women, too. It's not always just the men.”

Mariposa shook her head, making Luz think she was brushing away memories that were still painful to recall.

“But Max, your father—it's odd how we never say his name—he never laid a hand on me. He hurt me much deeper than any physical scar when he left me.”

“I don't know anything about him, other than what I saw in a photograph. I don't even know his last name.”

Mariposa glanced at Luz, then turned her gaze back to the road. “It was Stroh. Maximilian Stroh.”

Luz rolled the name on her tongue. It felt foreign.

“That's not
your
name. We never married. You know that?”

“Yes. Didn't you ever want to get married?”

An enigmatic smile played at Mariposa's lips. “I was eighteen. I don't know if the thought of marriage crossed my mind when I first ran off with him. Later, when I found I was pregnant, yes, I did want to get married. I even expected that we would. Demanded it.” She paused and Luz waited, breathlessly, for her to continue. “Max did not.”

“He really just left you?”

Mariposa nodded soberly. “I had a job as a waitress at a local club. One evening I came home from my shift and he was gone. He left a note and what little money he could. Pitiful, really.”

“What did the note say?”

“Not much. It was a scribbled note on lined paper. It said ‘I'm sorry.'”

“That's it? Nothing more?” Luz felt outrage against him. “What a bastard!”

Mariposa slowly nodded her head.

“How could you fall for a jerk like that?”

“Oh, he was charming,” Mariposa replied. “Max was different from any of the other young men I knew at the university. He was a foreign student from Germany and he was so handsome with his white-blond hair, his blue eyes, and his smile . . .” She glanced at Luz and stopped.

Luz wasn't smiling. “Did you love him?” At the very least, she'd always thought her mother must have loved her father.

“Yes. Very much. For all that I knew of love at eighteen. I felt for him what I've never felt for another man before or since. He was my first lover.” She paused. “I hope that doesn't shock you.”

“Please,” Luz replied with a short laugh.

“It would have shocked my mother.”

Luz thought of Abuela and all the conversations they'd had about her and Sully. “Maybe not. Abuela was old-fashioned, but she was hardly a prude.”

“She hated Max. There was no doubt about that.”

“I thought she never met him!”

“She and my father met him when they came to visit the university. We had lunch. I remember Max drank German beer and my father drank Mexican beer. Mami thought he was a phony intellectual, vain, self-centered. All of which was true. She liked nothing about him, not even the way he held his cigarette. You know the way, between the thumb and index finger, like this.” She lifted her hand and demonstrated his old European smoking technique. Luz had to laugh, imagining it.

“Why would she say she never met him?”

“Did she? Poor Mami. She either blocked him out of her mind or, more likely, hated him so much that she didn't want you to have any information about him, not even negative. Luz, he wasn't
evil. He never beat me or abused me in any way. When we were together we laughed and had a wonderful time. But he was twenty and didn't want to be saddled with a wife and child. And by the time he left, we'd started arguing about money and the baby. So, like the spoiled little boy he was, he ran home to Germany. It's pitiful that I don't even know what town he was from.”

“Good riddance.”

“Yes. But I'm ashamed to admit he broke my heart. But what was worse, he broke my spirit. Some might say it was good I got my comeuppance. But carrying his child with him leaving so unceremoniously, with no support—it was humiliating. I was devastated.”

Luz nodded her head and lowered the window, taking a breath. “That's enough for now,” she said in a soft voice. She looked out the window at the scenery passing by and thought that knowing this about her father didn't change anything in her world. She didn't have any desire to seek him out or to meet him. He left nothing of himself behind, not even his name. In contrast, Luz was hungry for more information about her mother's life—her decisions, reactions, emotions. She felt a visceral connection to her that she couldn't understand, especially since she'd left her, too.

“This boyfriend of yours,” Mariposa said. “Has he ever abused you?”

“Sully?” Luz cried, incredulous. “No! Never. He never would.”

“Good.” Mariposa ran her hand through her hair with a sigh. “You know, that was the one thing I never could reconcile about the monarchs. I love just about everything about them, except the way the males treat the females. They're bullies. The males don't use pheromones to attract a mate, like other butterflies. When a male monarch sees a female in the air that he likes, he knocks
her from the sky and mates.” She looked at Luz. “I hope that you choose your mate for love. Sex without love means nothing. Your young man, your Sully. Do you love him?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mariposa turned her head and her eyes studied Luz's face. “Good.”

It started to rain when they reached the modest hotel that Billy frequented in the small town of Maravatío. It was a colonial building on the charming town square. The innkeepers, a kindly elderly couple, ran the inn with their children. They greeted Billy like a prodigal son.

It rained all night, a soft, nourishing rain that made music against the tin roof. They woke up to an overcast sky; the rain had stopped and the winds were pushing the clouds out. Billy was ready to roll early, eager to get to his destination.

“Keep an eye open,” he told them as the caravan took off. “It's a good day for monarchs.”

By midday Billy turned off the main highway and took a narrow, rugged road that cut through the rural landscape. As they drew closer to Angangueo, Mariposa expected their conversations to turn to the jagged personal landscape of their histories. Luz had been quieter than usual since their conversation about her father the day before. Mariposa knew it was a lot for her to take in and she had yet to process it. Sam had spoken to her at length about allowing Luz the opportunity to ask questions, no matter how awkward or painful they might be to answer. She wished Sam were here with her now. She missed his quiet, steadying hand on the reins.

But Luz didn't ask dangerous questions. She sat quiet, even tense, anxious about meeting her extended family in Angangueo.

All morning they'd been spotting more monarchs. Two here, three there. In the past hour they'd begun to appear more and more, one after another. Luz kept her eyes on the sky.

“There's another one!” Luz cried excitedly, pointing at the sky.

“I can't see it, unless you want me to drive off the road. I'd better keep my eyes straight ahead.”

Luz continued to cast quick glances into the sky.

Mariposa saw that Billy had flicked on his turn signal and was pulling off to the side of the road. She hit the brakes, muttering with disgust, “What's he doing now? That man is driving me crazy. He's always stopping to look at something. And Margaret eggs him on, pointing out this plant or that flower. They're two peas in a pod.”

“Well, it is his job, after all. They're both researching.”

“I know it. I'm just getting testy. I'm anxious to see the family and we're so close. Each stop is an aggravation.”

By the time Mariposa pulled over to the side of the road, Billy was already out of the car and standing at the edge of a precipice, looking at the sky with his binoculars. Margaret was rounding the truck, looking up at the sky under the shield of her palm.

Luz grabbed her binoculars from the back of the car. “What are you looking at?”

Margaret pointed to the sky.

Luz saw a monarch fly by at eye level, her ragged-edged wings pumping the air. “A monarch!” she exclaimed.

Mariposa came from around the car to her side. “I saw it. And there are another couple over there,” she said, pointing. “We're going to start seeing more.”

“Hey, ladies,” Billy called out, lowering his glasses. “What are you doing? Look up!”

Mariposa and Luz looked again into the cloudy sky. What looked like the front edge of a dark cloud was moving faster than the others across the sky. Mariposa lifted her hand, shielding her eyes and squinting. Way up in the sky she saw the unmistakable shape of dozens of butterflies, flying under the dark cloud. She smiled and glanced at Luz. She saw her jolt and whip her hand into the air, excitedly pointing. “Oh, my God!” Luz cried out.

Mariposa craned her neck to look to the sky again. At that moment the sun moved from behind a cloud and the sky overhead seemed to explode in orange glitter.

That was no cloud.

“Woohoo!” Luz cried exuberantly, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl.

Mariposa laughed aloud, exhilarated at the sight. Above them were thousands and thousands of monarchs riding a current across the sky. It was impossible to guess exactly how many there were. She felt humbled watching them. These fragile, heroic voyagers, each following an age-old instinct, formed a magnificent river of purpose flowing across the sky.

For a brief moment, Mariposa remembered the caterpillars. Each egg that hatched to an eyelash-size caterpillar survived the odds to grow and be resurrected as a butterfly. Each metamorphosis was a miracle. And here they were—thousands and thousands of them, jubilantly flying to their sanctuary. She felt awash with hope.

Billy was standing at the edge of the road, looking out across the vista. His face was lit up like a boy's as he pointed to a distant
hillside carpeted with yellow flowers. The dew from the earlier rain glistened in the sun. “That's El Cerrito, the Little Hill. That'll be their first stop. They'll fill their tanks before they head up to the sanctuaries for the winter. Let's go!” He sprinted back to his car.

Mariposa called him back. “You go ahead. That's in the opposite direction. We're going straight to Angangueo. Our family is expecting us.” She looked at Luz, to confirm that she agreed with the plan. “Okay?”

Luz nodded in agreement, then looked to Margaret.

Margaret walked over to Luz and took both her hands in hers. “Hey, I get why you're going straight on to town,” Margaret said. “But this is the fork in the road for me. I've always wanted to work in the field, and Billy is giving me that chance.”

“But Margaret! To go off like this with Billy. It's so . . .”

“Spontaneous? God, I hope so. I'm tired of waiting on the sidelines, taking the safe route.”

“But . . .”

“I'll be fine. Billy's great and we work well together. We think the same. Hey, don't look so sad. Be happy for me. This is the adventure I've been waiting for.”

“Will I see you in town?”

Margaret shrugged her shoulders and offered a good imitation of Billy's lopsided grin. “I don't know. But you'll hear from me. You have my cell number and I'll call you. Don't worry!” She pulled Luz in and hugged her tightly. “Thank you so much for letting me come with you. You're braver and stronger than you think. You've changed my life.”

Margaret released her, hurried around the truck, and climbed in as Billy fired the engine. He stuck his arm out the window for
a quick, spread-fingered wave. As he pulled back onto the road, a grinning Margaret stuck her head out the window and yelled, “I hope you get to where you're supposed to be!” Laughing, she slipped her head back inside.

Luz laughed and waved as she watched Billy's truck disappear down the road. Who knew, she thought, and her mind drifted to Sully.

“I know where we are,” Mariposa said, her eyes gleaming as she climbed into the driver's seat. “Get in! We're almost there.”

The Mexican holiday known as the Day of the Dead on November 1 and 2 corresponds with the arrival of the bulk of the monarchs to the overwintering sites in Michoacán. Locals consider the monarch butterflies to be the souls or spirits of departed relatives that have returned for an annual visit.

T
he small colonial town of Angangueo was nestled in a narrow valley, its tumble of colorful stucco houses terracing the mountainside. They passed small farms dotted with modest wood slat houses, goats and sheep, and majestic pine forests. El Toro whined as it climbed the rutted roads close to town, but Mariposa drove the old car like she was born for the task.

At last they reached the narrow town that seemed to stretch out along the winding, constricted main street. The white storefronts were topped with tile roofs and window trims as bright as the peppers and tomatoes sold in the open market. The town was decorated with festive streamers looped between the buildings, their plastic colored flags flapping in the breeze. Locals thronged the sidewalks, carrying baskets overflowing with orange flowers, bread, sweets, and traditional foods for the Day of the Dead.