The Butterfly’s Daughter (44 page)

Manolo set his jaw, his eyes glittering, but he complied, groaning with the effort of rising. Estella picked up her basket, then came to Luz's side. She bent to frame Luz's face in her cold, dry hands. In the dim light Luz saw the compassion shining in her eyes like flickering flames. Estella bent to kiss her cheek, then turned to assist her husband home.

Luz watched them join the other villagers as they left the
cemetery in a somnolent procession. Dawn's light blanketed the mountains and the cold damp of morning chilled her face. She glanced at Mariposa, wondering if she was leaving now, too. Mariposa's shawl had slipped low on her arms as she stood. The stricken look on her face alarmed Luz. Mariposa made her way to Abuela's grave and dropped to her knees. Rocking back and forth, she moaned in a low, anguished voice.

“Don't go, Mami. Don't go.” She reached down to dig with her bare hands past the bed of flower petals into the earth.

“What are you
doing
?” Luz asked in horror. What Mariposa was doing seemed disrespectful to the grave, even sacrilegious. “Stop,” she said, grabbing her arm.

“Leave me alone,” Mariposa cried with emotion, swinging her arm back. She lost her balance and had to catch herself before she fell forward. “This is between me and my mother. It's none of your business.”

“None of my business?” Luz exclaimed, rearing back. “None of my business?” A volcanic fury surged through her. All the anger she'd suppressed during the nightlong vigil, all of her rage at being abandoned, all the indignation at the destruction of her
ofrenda
spewed out like lava. This time, Luz would not be ignored. She tossed down her shawl and stood over her mother, glaring down at her.

“How dare you!” she cried. “Kneeling in the dirt in front of that ridiculous altar you made. It's so showy. Abuela would have hated it. Do you think that making that altar is going to make her forgive you? She's dead! It's too late. You had your chance and you blew it. No amount of stuff you put on that altar will change that.”

“Don't . . .”

“She thought you were dead!
I
thought you were dead. You
left us and didn't bother to send a word. Not a
word
!” Luz sucked in air, panting with the effort. “You loved your drugs more than you loved me or Abuela.” She spun around to look at the
ofrenda.
It looked garish in the morning light. “Look at all that shit,” she cried. “You bought all that stuff. It means nothing to her. What did you give Abuela that meant something to her? What did you offer that meant something to you?”

Luz grabbed her purse, her heels digging in the soft dirt of the gravesite. She pulled out the offerings that had been torn from the box of ashes and discarded, then returned to the headstone. With deliberate movements she placed the booties down on the earth in front of Mariposa. “For Ofelia,” she said. Next she set the torn cardboard covered with psychedelic lettering and painted monarchs beside the booties, saying, “For Stacie.” The page torn from a book of observations she set beside the other items, saying, “For Margaret.” Finally, she sprinkled the remnants of the wilted flowers and paper scraps over the grave and watched them land in a splayed pattern across the grave.

“Don't you touch them!” she hissed to Mariposa. “These were my offerings to Abuela and you threw them away like they were trash. Like you did to me. They aren't trash! I'm not trash!” she cried. “This was important to me. To
me
!” Her clenched fist pounded her heart and she felt tears burning her eyes. “You never once asked me about them. You never asked me how I felt about Abuela dying and being left alone.
I
brought Abuela's ashes home. Not you! This was
my
journey.” She reached up to swipe away her tears. “I came here for her. These were meant for Abuela.” Her voice broke at saying her name. “
She
was my mother. Not you. You're nothing to me. You're dead to me! Do you hear me? You're dead to me!”

Mariposa sat slump-shouldered on her mother's grave, surrounded by the sputtering candles. She stared up at Luz, her dark eyes vacant and her face ashen with shock.

Luz spun on her heel and marched blindly away, tripping over scattered offerings in her eagerness to escape. She swept up her purse and shawl, without looking back. She couldn't bear another moment in this cemetery.

The sun rose higher above the horizon. The aura of mystery and reconciliation that Luz had felt at sunset vanished like ghosts. The Day of the Dead was supposed to have been a celebration of love and a reaffirmation of life. All Luz felt as she ran from the cemetery was a crushing defeat and despair.

In the new light of dawn, all the dreams she'd harbored of her mother had been revealed as a nightmare.

Once settled in the sanctuaries, millions of monarchs spend much of their time huddled in endless roosts in the oyamel fir forests. When the sun shines they take flight. When a cloud covers the sun, the butterflies panic and rush back to roost. The sound of millions of flapping wings is like the wind in the trees.

H
ours later, when the family had gone to mass to celebrate the joy of life, Luz remained behind, packing her suitcase. When she'd returned to the apartment she had gone straight to her room. No one spoke to her; they seemed to comprehend that she needed to be left alone. She stood for a long while under a hot shower, scrubbing off the dirt and letting the water warm her chilled body. When she'd dressed again and came downstairs, the house was empty and quiet.

Luz helped herself to a cup of black coffee and some bread. She felt tired and empty inside, drained of all her pent-up emotions. She went to the bedside table and picked up her phone, hoping for a message from Margaret, but there were none. She missed her friend. This was the trigger that made her cry.

She was bent over her suitcase, sniffling back tears, when she heard the door open. Luz closed her eyes while her hands stilled, instinctively knowing who it was.

Mariposa quietly entered the room. She didn't speak.

Luz gathered her resolve and turned to square off with her mother. Mariposa had washed the mud from her face and hands, and brushed and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, but she still wore the clothing of the night before. Dark smudges under her eyes and her chalky skin were evidence of the sleepless night. She stood quiet and composed, again the reserved woman Luz had met at Maria's house, holding herself together by a tight string.

“You're leaving?” Mariposa asked in a voice made hoarse with exhaustion.

“Tomorrow,” Luz replied without warmth.

Mariposa considered this. After a moment she reached into the pocket of her skirt and retrieved a small woven drawstring satchel. She reached out and handed it to Luz.

Luz stared at it, not moving. “What's that?”

Mariposa tightened her lips and lifted the red bag higher toward Luz. “I meant to give this to you last night. But instead I made a mess of the evening, as usual. You were right. I thought only of myself and my own grief. I should have thought about yours.”

Luz turned her back to the gift. “Whatever.” She went back to her suitcase and resumed packing, wishing the woman would just leave her alone.

“Luz, I'm sorry.”

“You're always sorry!” Luz said, spinning around. “It doesn't mean anything.” She took a breath, determined not to lose her temper, then turned and tossed a shirt into the suitcase. “I'll pack and be out of here. I'll get out of your and everyone's way.”

“I know you're angry. I don't blame you. But I promised you I would take you to the sanctuary.”

“Forget about it. I don't want to go anymore.”

“But you've come so far.”

“It's not your problem, okay? I'm not a little girl anymore. I'll ask Tía Estella to take me. Or Yadira.”

“Yes. You could do that.” Mariposa sounded defeated. She looked around the room but her eyes didn't focus on anything. She took a step closer to Luz. “Here, you should take this with you,” she said, offering the satchel to her again. “I put some of Abuela's ashes into this bag for you to bring with you to the sanctuary. I . . . I didn't feel her presence last night. I think if she were to be anywhere, it would be up there. With the butterflies.”

Luz thought her heart had turned cold, but looking at the bag of ashes in Mariposa's hand, she felt a crack in the ice. She sucked in her breath.

“Those are Abuela's ashes?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes. I'm so sorry I ruined your
ofrenda,
” Mariposa said in a rush. “It was thoughtless of me.” She pushed her hand closer to Luz. “Please. Take this to the mountain so you can say your good-bye.”

Luz reached out to take the woven bag. It felt heavier than she'd thought it would. She tightened her lips against the urge to say thank you.

“Luz, I thought a long time about what you said to me last night. You had every right to say those things. They weren't anything I hadn't already said to myself.”

Luz turned to put the ashes on the table, a sinking feeling of shame in her stomach.

“You asked one question that I'd like to answer,” Mariposa said.

Luz flicked a quick glance at Mariposa's face.

“You asked what I ever gave to my mother that mattered to me. I gave her you.”

Luz took a step back and put up her hands against the onslaught of emotions. “I don't want to hear this now,” she said. “I can't stand any more of it.”

“You need to stand it! You need to be strong now, for me, for Abuela, and for yourself so that we can get past all this and move forward. Please, Luz. It's long past time for us to have this conversation.”

“You're right. It's too late.”

“You have no idea how hard it is for me to be with you.”

Luz swung her head around, eyes wide with hurt.

“To see you every day and not feel ashamed and unworthy. I know I did the most terrible thing a mother could do to her child. I left you! Having a child, raising her to adulthood, this should have been my life's work. Instead, my life was filled with debased behavior I'm too ashamed to speak of. I was sick and ashamed, too ashamed to call. Don't you see? I thought it was better if you thought I was dead! I don't deserve my mother's forgiveness. I don't deserve you.”

Mariposa walked to the window to look out through the lace. “There were many times when I wanted to end my life. Only the hope that I might see you again kept me going.” She turned again to face Luz. “I know I can't take Abuela's place in your heart. I don't even want to try. I just ask that you let me guide you to the sanctuary, as we planned. You don't have to speak to me. I'll keep my distance. I promise.”

Luz looked at the bag of ashes, confused. “Why did Abuela tell me all those lies about you?”

“No, not lies. Stories.”

“What's the difference?”

“Ah, Luz, perhaps the young can't fully understand this. All
myths and legends are nothing more than stories. Tales told by shamans, priests, mothers, and fathers since the beginning of time to try to explain universal truths. We take what we need from the stories, to give our lives meaning. Because each of us is writing our own story.

“Look at me, Luz.
Me.
I am not the story you heard from Abuela. I am not even the story that is forming in your mind now. Look into my eyes. For all my faults and weaknesses, I am your mother. You are my daughter. That is our story. I will take you to the sanctuary so that you can finish this journey. That much I can do for you. After that, I will abide by whatever decision you make.”

“All right,” Luz said begrudgingly. “I'm doing this for Abuela. Not for you.”

“I understand,” Mariposa said. “If you're ready, we can go now.”

The rutted dirt road to the sanctuary was twisted and steep with precipitous climbs and drops. Mariposa drove El Toro past the remnants of the old mine. Abandoned conveyor belts, metal towers, and scaffolds were all that remained of one of the major silver mines of Mexico. They passed several small farms that dotted the mountains with fields covered with the remnants of cornstalks. She turned off at a small house built of wood slats and adobe, like the others they'd passed.

“We'll park the car here,” she told Luz.

Mariposa had kept her word. She didn't talk and her manner was as formal as if she were a paid guide. Luz got out of the car and sullenly followed her to the door of the drab little house. It was a meager dwelling with neither plumbing nor electricity. A miserly trickle of smoke rose from the fireplace indoors. The dusty
back area was a hardscrabble patch of earth enclosed by chicken wire attached to pieces of chopped timber. The fence swayed precariously but did its job of keeping in wandering hens and a few imposing turkeys. A tilting shed housed three sheep and a sweet lamb, all of which appeared content and well fed. A short, stocky man came to the door, tucking in his shirt. Mariposa quickly told him in Spanish of their intention to go up the mountain. His face revealed surprise that she wanted to go up the mountain today, during the holiday.

Luz listened to the rapid exchange as Mariposa told him who she was, using her brother's influence. She didn't mean to disturb their holiday and only wanted to rent two horses for the journey up the mountain. No, it had to be today, not tomorrow. Sorry, but they were leaving. The man insisted that they needed a guide and would not rent horses if they refused one. Mariposa argued with him but he held firm. Reluctantly, she agreed. Once the terms were agreed upon, he turned and called back into the house, “Pablocito!”