She hesitated, her open mouth, as wide as her eyes, so I grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. I glanced back only once to see Tito fall as he tried to bear weight on his injured foot.
By the time we reached the truck, I had told Rosa what I saw the morning before and then what Mamá had said today.
“How can we leave her?” she kept saying. “And the boys?”
“How can we stay?” I answered sharply; then I reached out and gently touched her upper arm encircled by a dark bruise.
“He held it so tight the whole way down, saying he needed to steady himself.” Rosa shook her head, and continued, “We stopped by the stream so he could soak his ankle, but he started rubbing my back and playing with my hair. Why would he do that? Why did he do that?” Her voice rose in anger, “What is it with men. All of them! ¡Animales!” Her cheeks were blotched, her eyes fearful and wild.
Then she began to weep softly. “Oh, Mamá,” she whispered, rubbing her face with her hands. When she looked up, she gasped, “Alma, did she hit you?”
Reaching toward my face, she gently touched my cheek. I flinched. “It’s nothing,” I said, thinking of Mamá’s angry face and realizing I never wanted to lay eyes on her again. “We have to go, Rosa. Now!”
“But Mamá . . . and the boys,” she pleaded again.
“Mamá will be better off without us. She will have Tito all to herself. That’s what she wants. She won’t leave him, and we can’t stay there—not now. And think of it,” I added, as the fact occurred to me, “they will have two fewer mouths to feed. Just the boys to worry about.”
“And a baby,” she said, more to herself than to me.
“Tito’s baby,” I reminded her, and she winced. I continued, “Rosa, it’s not forever. We will see them again. Maybe we will find work and send them money, or make a home and bring Mamá there. Or maybe we will find Papá.” Not waiting for an answer, I unlocked the truck door, handed her the key, and climbed into the passenger seat.
As Rosa slid into the driver’s seat, the image of Tito showing her how to drive made me shiver. I hadn’t thought of it at the time, but now I could see him in the middle leaning into her, his arm resting along the seat behind her shoulders, his hand on the steering wheel helping her steer. While she clutched the wheel nervously, his leg kept crossing over hers as he demonstrated the accelerator and the brake.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Rosa said now, her hand trembling as she turned the key. The engine sputtered and coughed.
“Keep turning!” I said. “Tito did this, many times, remember, until it worked?”
“But I’m afraid to drive. I don’t really know how, Alma, not really.”
“You can do well enough. Just get us down to the paved road and then look for 190. I remember that number.”
The engine finally roared, and as she shifted, we lurched forward and began a rough bumpy ride on the dirt road. When we finally reached the 190, she stepped on the brake.
“Which way?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.
“Not left. No, we need to head toward Tuxtla and Oaxaca. I think that would be right.”
“Alma, what in God’s name are we doing? This is crazy!” She wiped the tears from her cheek, paused for moment, and then looked at me with a hint of composure. “Think about it, really.”
I sighed deeply and thought of Papá. What would he want us to do? Surely not go back to Tito. Then I thought of Mamá and what she had said about making a life for herself.
“Rosa, I think Mamá will do the best she can with or without us. Now we are old enough to take care of ourselves.”
Rosa bowed her head, perhaps in prayer. We sat quietly for a while, the motor running. When she finally lifted her head, she said softly, “Tito might look for us in Oaxaca, you know, and he will certainly be looking for the truck.”
When I turned to meet her eyes, I saw the fear. I desperately wanted to reassure her, but I was terrified myself. “You always say, trust in la Virgen. Put it in her hands. Well, let’s do that. Just drive. Maybe she’ll take us beyond Oaxaca, maybe even to el norte, and Papá.”
Rosa moaned, “Oh, Alma.” But she stepped on the gas, sending us on a hard turn to the right. We fishtailed a bit until the truck evened out, and then we were on our way. I let out a long sigh and hoped that la Virgen was indeed with us, riding shotgun.
2
Into the Fog
The mountain road twisted and curved sharply. Rattling along, the truck swerved from side to side as Rosa struggled with the wheel. Just as she straightened the truck, another curve, then another and another. It seemed to go on forever. At one point, clouds were hugging the side of the mountain and enveloping the truck in a thick gray mist. We could barely see the road ahead. Rosa slowed to a crawl, and we chugged along, both leaning forward, our eyes glued to just beyond the hood. For all we knew we were heading to the edge of a cliff. I could hear Rosa softly praying, and a part of me joined in as well. Finally, we turned a corner, and it was completely clear ahead. We screamed with joy and settled back in our seats. I think it was at this point that Rosa relaxed and became more confident in her driving, for the truck began to move smoothly, keeping to the right lane. Fortunately, there were no other cars on the road until we got closer to Tuxtla Gutiérrez, and then they whizzed by honking and speeding around us, often barely missing oncoming cars.
On the outskirts of the city, we pulled into a gas station to use the restroom and to check the truck. We had seen Tito pour water into something under the hood each time we had driven anywhere; as for gas, we didn’t know where to begin. While we were fumbling to open the hood, a young man, who was cleaning the windows of a small orange truck, turned and asked if he could help. He was wearing a T-shirt with the words “Gracias a Dios” curved above hands in prayer. Of course, he was speaking to Rosa. Even with strands of hair falling around her sweat-soaked face, she attracted attention.
Calmly and with an air of self-possession, Rosa said, “It needs some water.”
He nodded. “Ah, radiator. My Papá’s has a slow leak as well.” Within seconds, he had popped the hood, unscrewed a cap, and poured water from a plastic bottle into the opening until it was full, then screwed it back on tightly, all with Rosa and I leaning over the hood and watching his every move.
“Need gas, too? I’m happy to help. No hay problema.” Looking down at her hands, he added, “You don’t want to get those lovely hands all dirty.” When he smiled, two dimples appeared, giving him a boyish look.
Rosa glanced at me while she spoke to him, “I think we do. The line is below the half-way mark. But how much do you think we need,” she paused, “to get to Oaxaca?”
“The state border or the city?” he asked, for Oaxaca was an entire state and Oaxaca City its capital in the center. We knew we were close to the state border, but the city itself was quite a bit beyond that.
“The city?” she asked, still looking at me.
“Oh, you’d need to fill up a couple of times. It’s a good seven to eight hours from here, maybe more in this old thing.” He began to walk around the truck, kicking each tire and examining them closely.