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CHAPTER 33
MY MAMI IS COOKING AT the stove. I watch her raise lids, stir pots. I listen to her hum happily. I am not here. Even in my dream, I know that. She is not here either. But I’m so grateful to see her, I don’t care.
My mamita.
As if she heard, she turns and smiles at me. “Chiquita,” she whispers, and the love in her eyes fills my chest with such bittersweet pain, I think it might burst.
Her face is softer. Her cheeks no longer gaunt, the shadows gone from beneath her eyes. She is radiant in her white blouse and red peasant skirt, topped by her favorite apron. I see bits of crumbled cheese smudged near her pocket.
Then I look down and realize I am sitting at the kitchen table, a block of queso blanco in my hand.
A shadow drifts across the kitchen. I know then what will happen next.
“No,” I try to tell her.
“It’s all right, my love.”
The shadow, growing darker...
“She calls me Bonita. Did you name me Bonita?” My voice is urgent, frantic. Any moment the door will explode open. Any second, the Bad Man will appear again.
“You have always been bonita to me. Muy bonita.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I’m still with you. I’m always with you. But you know that, chiquita. For everything that is lost, something is gained. Your words are gone, but you have other gifts in their place.”
She smiles. Wipes her hands on her apron. Before I can get up. Before I can fly across the room and wrap my arms around her waist.
The door slams open.
The Bad Man appears.
Now we are outside, my mother kneeling on the red earth. She does not cower or beg. There is no pleading this time as the Bad Man looms before her. Her voice is simple and composed as she tells me, “Run.”
But once again, I can’t do it.
“Chiquita. It’s okay. For everything that’s lost, something is gained.”
The Bad Man levels his weapon.
Now, I’m the one who begs. “Let her go. Take me. I’ll be your servant forever. Just take me.”
“She must pay,” the Bad Man snarls.
My mother merely smiles at him. She appears serene as she says, “I do not repent. I would do it all again. They deserved the chance I gave them. And you will never get them back. I am but one. They are many. So do what you must. We both know, in the end, I won.”
A howl, like the coyotes in the distance, except worse.
“Chiquita, run.”
“No!”
“Remember, for everything that is lost, something is gained.”
The Bad Man’s finger squeezing the trigger. My mamita, staring right at him, daring him to take her life.
“I love you,” I cry out frantically.
