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“Valeria.” My mother’s broken voice hits my back, but I refuse to face her just yet.
I hear her step closer to me, sniffling as she searches for words. My own tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision as I spin in place and throw my arms around her neck. My mother is my best friend, and I realize I’m not mad at her for the slap, I’m sure I deserved it, and it was long overdue, I’m just heartbroken that I’m being pushed away by her. Like she doesn’t want me anymore. I know that logically that’s unfair and untrue, but that’s how it feels…how it hurts.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she says as she holds me, her fingers running over my hair, “I never should have done that, and I hate myself for it.”
I pull back and look at her, watching her eyes skate over my cheek as though she’s looking for more reasons to hate herself.
“Mom, I’m okay, I swear. I just want to know what exactly is going on. I don’t want platitudes or bullshit pandering; I want the truth.”
Her head drops and takes a deep breath, “I can’t tell you everything, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
I throw my hands up and spin away, pacing the kitchen, “What does that even mean, mom?! Is dad part of some gang? Is he in debt with someone? A money launderer? Why do you sound like this is life or fucking death?”
“Because it is,mija. For this family, it’s life or death.”
I almost trip over my feet, falling into the fridge as my widened gaze finds my mom’s serious face. What the hell? I was only joking…partly.
“What?” My voice is barely audible.
We stare at each other for a silent moment, her eyes burning with nothing but pain, misery and love while mine plead for understanding, for hope that this is all a nightmare or sick joke. My mother has never lied to me, not about anything important, likelife-threatening-important, so I have no reason to distrust what she’s saying.
“Come sit down.”
“No.” I tell her firmly, “No. Tell me right here, right now, mother.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her shoulders straightening and her eyes hardening, but it’s all an act. The truth is, she’s barely holding on and I’m not helping, but I really don’t have it in me to care.
“Fine. Your father and I met around the same ages you and Noah were when you two first met. He was my best friend, always full of light and love. He was a defender to anyone in need of defense.” She smiles fondly as speaks, her eyes far away, “I always told him he’d make a great defense attorney, but he wanted to work with kids. He wanted to become a social worker to help children escape their neglectful homes.”
“But he’s a financial manager, I doubt that helps kids escape shitty homes.”
She turns and makes her way to the table, grabbing a photo album from the built-in bookshelf on the wall of the hall.
“You’re right, that’s not the path he took but there’s a reason for that. He was top of his class and incredibly intelligent, especially with numbers, but it wasn’t enough for his father. When Roberto told him what his plans for his future were, your grandfather was furious, forbade him, saying ‘No son of mine will go down apath made for the weak.’”
She slides the open photo album across the table, her eyes pleading with me to come and sit with her, so I do, but not before I snatch up the bottle I washed and two glasses, knowing I’ll definitely need a little more alcohol for this. My mother has never allowed me to drink unless I’m home with her and even then, I’m only allowed one glass of wine.
I look down at the photo, my grandfather, whom I’ve never met, stares back at me with a frown on his serious face. He has gray hair that sits like a helmet on his head, thick and combed to perfection. He looks like he belongs in the seventeen hundreds with his handlebar mustache and pressed suit. There’s an obnoxious pendant on his coat that looks like a silver mask with two long horns, but I can’t be too sure. His right hand covers his left forearm just like the images on the Coventry University website.Did gramps go there too?
Every time I look at these photographs, grandpa Efrem always gives me the creeps and this time is no different.
My father stands beside him looking the polar opposite, with a giant goofy smile that matches my own, wild black hair befitting the late nineteen-eighties, and some sort of certificate in his hand.
“What happened then?” I ask her in anticipation and dread, both mixing in my stomach and making me nauseous.
“Your father changed. He never told me what happened, but I saw the darkness in his eyes, eating away at the light each day until there was nothing left but the man you knew. I know you’ve always wanted to ask me why I stayed with your father even when he lost his temper, but the fact is, I love him. I love the man I know is buried inside; the man I know I can bring back.”
“Mama, please, what happened?” I’m pleading now, begging for answers and only getting more questions.
“Your grandfather, and every Calavera man before him, are part of a secret society. They’re a very powerful entity in this country, creating big names in the political system. They’re the quiet chess players, you see their marks on the citizens, but you never see them. Your father did something that was demanded of him and because of that, he was initiated into the society.
“He was a pawn to them, being molded until he no longer resembled the boy I knew. Gone were the dreams of helping others. He moved up in power, but we were still best friends, still so close and very much in love.”
I flip through the album noting that after a few pages, it was my father who wore the silver pendant. His goofy smile was gone, his attire was pressed to perfection…who he was in these images matches the man I grew up knowing.
“He looks like a copy of grandpa, frowns and stern brows. But what does all this have to do with me going to live with him?”
“I’m getting to that, but you need to understand the genesis first. The Society has a major council, a hierarchy that controls the entire thing. There’s the president who at the time was your grandfather, there’s the vice president, the coat of arms, and so on until you reach the novices. The council is deeply rooted in tradition much the way a normal Fraternity is, only this group changes you, turns you into someone you don’t recognize for their own gain.”
