The Butterfly’s Daughter (8 page)

She looked around the compact interior of the VW Bug.
Everything in the cozy space—the worn seat fabric, the metal dash, what was left of the carpet—was a dull gray, the color of granite. The radio didn't work, nor did the air-conditioning, but Sully had declared the little car sound.

She drove out of Milwaukee onto I-94 past Racine, then Kenosha, on her way to Chicago. The engine strained to match the speed of the cars rushing past her, rattling her little Bug, but she buzzed along noisily at a steady fifty-five miles per hour. She smelled the odd scent-mixture of oil and rubber the car emitted—not bad, just its own, unique perfume. She chuckled at the quirks of El Toro and felt a surge of excitement at the beginning of this epic journey.

Luz drove past farms dotted with grazing cows, an amusement park with a spectacular roller coaster, and acres of open fields. An hour later the open fields grew scarce and soon changed to chockablock houses, shopping malls, and office complexes. Closer to the city of Chicago, lanes doubled and traffic grew congested. An elevated train line zipped past, sparks flying from the wheels. Horns honked angrily at the poky Bug, and people cut into lanes without warning.

She wasn't used to this kind of traffic and her heart pounded in her chest as she maneuvered her way through the downtown framed by skyscrapers and walls of cement. She'd just breathed a sigh of relief as she made it onto the outgoing expressway when she felt the car losing power. Her gaze darted to her speedometer and she watched helplessly as it slipped below fifty miles per hour.

Her heart rate zoomed as she flicked her turn signal and began looking in a panic over her shoulder for a break in the traffic. She grabbed her first narrow opening and darted into the exit lane,
earning a chorus of angry honks. El Toro limped off the exit, sputtering like a speared bull. She clutched the wheel so tight her knuckles whitened as she leaned forward and scanned the streets for a gas station.

It was a seedy area with grimy brick buildings and signs for pawnshops, Western Union, and liquor stores. Iron bars covered most of the street-level windows. Please, God, don't let me break down here, she prayed. A little farther along the street the building windows weren't boarded, and instead of pawnshops, she spotted small groceries and shops with signs written in Spanish. Luz's fingers relaxed their clutch on the wheel.

“Thank God,” she exclaimed when she spotted a modest, cinder-block garage with a bright red sign advertising
AUTO REPAIR.
She pulled in and turned off the engine. While El Toro shuddered, Luz laid her head against the wheel and practically wept with relief. A mechanic promptly came out to greet her, wiping his hands with a rag. He was an older, wiry man, unshaven, and dressed in an oil-stained mechanic's uniform. But when he smiled it went straight to his eyes. He introduced himself as the owner, Mr. Vera. He listened to her story, then chuckled, putting her at ease. “You came to the right place. I know these old Vochos. I'll take a look right away.”

Luz sat at the edge of a dented metal chair in the cramped waiting room. The room oozed grease from the old magazines, the car accessories, even the peanuts in the machine. How could this happen to her? she wondered as she slipped her head in her palm. Only two hours into her epic journey and already she had car trouble. How could she hope to make it to San Antonio, much less Mexico, if she couldn't get out of Cook County? She reached
into her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and started punching in Sully's number. It was like an automatic reflex. Then she stopped. She recalled the long argument she'd had with Sully the night before about the car being safe enough to drive cross-country.

What was all her talk about being able to take care of herself? she asked herself. One of her goals for this journey was to discover her inner courage. To make her own decisions. Did she want to be proven wrong so quickly? Did she really want to be rescued?

With a flick of her wrist she closed her phone, then put it back into her purse and vowed not to call for help at every wrong turn. After half an hour the mechanic came back.

“Well, I have some good news and some bad news,” he began.

Luz cringed. She hated that opening because it always meant bad news.

“The good news is it's not serious and the part won't set you back much. It'll be mostly labor. The bad news is we don't have the part in stock. We can get it, but we won't have it in until maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Maybe two, three days. I called around but no one had one.”

“But . . . I can't stay here for two or three days!”

The old man wiped his hands again with an old, ragged cloth. “You could haul it somewhere else, but for this old Vocho . . .” His shrug spoke of his doubt she'd get a different answer.

Luz felt the blood drain from her face and took several slow, deep breaths. She was stuck here waiting for a car for two or three days? Hotel rooms were costly in the city. Then again, what choice did she have—other than picking up the phone and calling Sully?

Luz walked on watery legs to the Volkswagen. She yanked her
suitcase from the trunk, then retrieved the box of her grandmother's ashes from the backseat. Her shoulders, heavy with worry and disappointment, felt as if they were carrying another bag, weighing her down. She looked around, bewildered. Inside her heart, she felt all her earlier excitement and resolve wither.

Monarch caterpillars eat only milkweed. Adult monarch butterflies sip nectar from flowering plants using a sucking tube that resembles a soda straw and is called a proboscis. You can see it coiled under the monarch's head when not in use.

L
uz felt small and insignificant against the overwhelming vastness of a great city. Everything was so loud! She was engulfed in the raucous sounds of engines revving and backfiring, sirens wailing, and voices shrieking, as well as the ubiquitous blaring of horns.

Carrying her suitcase and the box of ashes, she began walking. Mr. Vera had told her if she walked a few blocks south she'd run into a bus stop that would take her near Union Station. There she could catch a train back to Milwaukee. It seemed the logical thing to do, even if it felt to her like running back home with her tail between her legs. She turned the corner and stopped in her tracks. There, dominating the stone wall of the garage, Luz saw an enormous, brilliantly colored mural of La Virgen de Guadalupe.

Luz's mouth slipped open. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

It was a magnificent mural. The Virgin Mary was resplendent, enshrined in a brilliant gold aura that rained down upon the
earth. Gold stars floating in her robe caught the sunlight and sparkled.

Abuela had lit a candle every night before the icon of La Virgen de Guadalupe to say her prayers. She'd told Luz that Mexicans were more devoted to this beloved image of La Virgen than to the national flag.

“It's a sign,” Luz whispered, and held the box of ashes closer to her chest. She imagined what Abuela would have done at this moment. Or her mother. They wouldn't have stopped now. Not even a monarch would turn back at its first obstacle. She had to have faith. But just in case, she made the sign of the cross.

Luz walked several blocks but didn't see the bus stop. A few men in open shirts leaning against a black iron fence eyed her but she ignored them, veering away to follow two women pushing strollers, heads bent toward each other in conversation. Then, like an unexpected gift, there appeared a small taqueria. Outside the door was a welcoming terra-cotta pot overflowing with cheery red and yellow flowers, and above it was a hand-painted sign with a colorful rendering of an iguana and crude letters spelling out
EL IGUANA
. She recalled how Abuela always said you couldn't think on an empty stomach.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

One step inside and the scent of chilies, corn, and spices carried her back to her grandmother's kitchen. Even ranchero music was blaring. On the long wall to the left was a colorful, primitive mural of a mountain village in Mexico with farmers working the soil, women doing laundry at a cistern, and children teasing a dog. Here and there throughout the mural fluttered monarch butterflies.

Feeling more at ease, she took a place in the long lunchtime line.
Behind the counter a harried young woman was scurrying at a mad pace to write down the orders shouted out by the customers. Her wild, curly hair was loosely held back by a hot pink headband and elastic. Though very pregnant, she managed the orders with a combination of tough-girl attitude and wise-ass humor.

One look at the cooking area and Luz knew why the little taqueria was so popular. It was what she imagined a taqueria in Mexico would look like. The black iron grill was surrounded by baskets brimming with fresh green heads of cabbage, big yellow and orange peppers, and the ever-present avocados. Beside these were trays of thinly sliced onions, tomatoes, and beef. The cook was a burly man standing wide-legged over the steaming grill, a sagging, grease-stained apron double-wrapped around his paunch. But he could flip tortillas with the finesse of a matador.

Luz's mouth watered and she thought of the bag of uneaten donuts in the car. She hadn't been hungry since Abuela's death a week earlier, but looking at all the foods Abuela used to cook, she felt suddenly starved. Most of the people in front of Luz were ordering takeout, so she was able to find a free table at the rear of the restaurant.

Luz had no idea where in the city she was, but embraced by the familiar tastes and sounds of her Mexican heritage, she felt strangely at home. The Spanish language that she'd never wanted to speak at home was comforting to her now. She ate slowly, in no hurry to come to a decision. The lunch rush was ending. Only a few people lingered in the taqueria. Luz stirred her soda with a straw, mulling over her options, which at the moment seemed to hover between calling Sully immediately and calling him after he finished work.

“Hey, miss?”

Luz looked up at the woman calling her in a slightly annoyed tone from behind the counter. She was wiping her brow with one hand, tapping her fingers on the counter with the other. A few curly tendrils managed to escape the thick ponytail to hang loosely around her flushed face. Her heavily lined, almond eyes looked at her with cool regard.

“You deaf or something? I said, miss?” she called out again. “You want anything else? If not, I'm gonna sit down a minute. My dogs are barking.”

The cook turned his head from the stove and called out in a gruff voice, “Whassat? I didn't say you could take a break. If you're done with customers, we gotta clean up.”

“Aw, come on, Mr. Cordero,” she said in a soft whine that mimicked a sob. “If I don't take a break I'm gonna have this baby right here on your floor.”

Mr. Cordero looked fierce with his acne-scarred face and short, steel gray hair. “You always say that. That baby's not coming for a month.”

“I dunno. I'm feeling these pains . . .” She rubbed her back meaningfully.

Mr. Cordero waved his hand dismissively in the air. “Aw, go on. You rest. I'll clean up. I'm only fooling with you.”

Luz caught a small, smug smile escaping from the girl's full lips. Then she called to Luz again, jutting her chin out. “So, you want something more or not?”

Luz shook her head. She'd been thinking about the flan, but didn't dare ask the exhausted pregnant girl to get her anything else.

She watched as the young woman stretched her arms behind her back to untie the long, white apron and slip it off, revealing a
hot pink spandex top that clung to her very pregnant shape. Then she reached up and, with one yank of the elastic, released a shower of brown curls heavily streaked with gold down her shoulders. She walked from behind the counter with her hand still rubbing the small of her back. She slumped into a chair at a table near Luz.

Luz slanted a glance her way, thinking the girl couldn't be older than she was. Maybe she was even younger, but flashier, with heavy brown eye shadow and several colored stones climbing her ear like a sparkling crescent moon. A tiny diamond studded her nose.

“So, how far along are you?” she asked in a friendly manner.

The girl slipped off her shoes and bent at an awkward angle to rub her arches. “About eight months,” she replied, not looking up.

“Well, good luck.”

The girl sat back in her chair and said with a derisive laugh, “I don't need luck. I need a miracle. That no-good Carmen up and quit on us. And now I have to do the work of two people. Hey, Angel says if I do the work of two people, I should get the pay of two people!” Turning her head, she called out in a louder voice to Mr. Cordero, “
¿Me oyes?
”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Mr. Cordero mumbled, his back to them.

“It would help, you know? Especially with the baby coming!” she called back. “They need so much,” she said, turning around in her chair. “Those teeny things are expensive.”

“You should've thought of that before you got knocked up,” Mr. Cordero called over his shoulder.

“Who was thinking? If I was thinking, I wouldn't have a belly the size of a beach ball, would I?”

Mr. Cordero turned, smiling, and they shared a laugh. Luz noticed how when the woman smiled, her full lips slipped back over
a mouth full of large, straight teeth, revealing bits of pink gum. The smile lit up her face and seeing it, Luz couldn't help but smile, too.

Luz held out her hand when the girl turned back to her. “Hi, I'm Luz.”

The girl narrowed her eyes and looked at Luz like a dog about to bite. She turned in her seat, giving her back to the hand, and took a sip from her water. “Never seen you before. Are you from around here?”

Luz withdrew her hand, stung. She knew the drill. No one had to ask her to leave twice. “Uh, no. Milwaukee,” she replied, bending to pick up her purse.