Siete
Finally the war was over. At school the teachers gathered in the hall and talked excitedly, and some hugged each other. Our Miss Maestas came in and told us the war was over, and she was happy, but the little kids just went on writing the magic letters in their tablets. From my corner I smiled. My three brothers would be coming home, and I yearned for them.
Andrew wrote. They were coming from the lands of the east to meet in a place called San Diego. They wanted to come home together; they had gone to war together.
“¡Jesús, María Purísima!” my mother cried. “Blessed Virgen de Guadalupe, thank you for your intercession! Blessed St. Anthony, holy San Martín, ay Dios mío, gracias a San Cristóbal!” She thanked every saint she knew for her sons’ safe delivery from war. She read the letter over and over and cried on it. When my father came home he had to pry the letter from her hand. By then it was falling apart with her tears, and the magic letters were stained and faded.
“We must pray,” she beamed with joy although her eyes were red with crying. She lit many candles for the Virgin and she allowed Ultima to burn sweet incense at the foot of the Virgin’s statue. Then we prayed. We prayed rosary after rosary, until the monotonous sound of prayers blended into the blur of flickering altar candles.
We prayed until our faith passed into an exhaustion that numbed us to sleep. The first to fall asleep was Theresa, and my father quietly got up and took her to bed. Then Deborah nodded and toppled. And I, who wanted to endure to please my mother, was next. I felt my father’s strong arms carrying me out, and my last glimpse was that of my mother and Ultima kneeling obediently at the foot of the Virgin, praying their thanks.
I do not know how long they prayed. I only know that my soul floated with the holiness of prayer into the sky of dreams. The mist swirled around me. I was at the river, and I heard someone calling my name.
Antonioooooo, the voice called, Tony, Tonieeeeeeee…
Oh, my Antonio, the sound echoed down the valley.
Here! I replied. I peered into the dark mist but I could see no one. I only heard the lapping of the muddy waters of the river.
Antonio-foroooooooous, the voice teased, like my brothers used to tease me.
Here! I called. Here by the catfish hole where you taught me to fish. Here by the tall reeds where the blood of Lupito washes into the river. The thick mist swirled in gray eddies and curled about the trees. They looked like giant, spectral figures.
Toni-roooooo… Toni-reel-oooooo, the voices called. Oh, our sweet baby, we are coming home to you. We who had been beyond the land of our father’s dream; we who have been beyond the ocean where the sun sets; we who have traveled west until we were in the east, we are coming home to you.
Me! My lost brothers.
Give us your hand, our sweet brother. Give us your saving hand.
We are the giants who are dying…
We have seen the land of the golden carp…
Then there was a loud crashing of branches behind me and I turned and saw the three dark figures looming over me.
“Aghhhhhhhh! My brothers!” I screamed. I bolted up and found myself in bed. My body was wet with sweat, and my lips were trembling. I felt a heavy sorrow gagging my heart, and it was hard to breathe. Outside I heard the owl cry in alarm. Someone was coming up the goat path. I jumped into my pants and raced out into the cold night.
There! Just coming over the slope of the hill were three dark figures.
“Andrew! León! Eugene!” I cried and ran barefeet up the moonlit path.
“Hey, Tony!” they shouted and raced towards me, and in one sweep I was gathered into the arms of the giants of my dreams.
“Hey, Tony, how are you?” “Man, you’re big!” “Hey, you in school? How’s mamá?” Then with me on Andrew’s shoulders they raced towards the house where there was already a light shining in the kitchen windows.
“¡Mis hijos!” my mother shouted and ran to embrace them. It was a wild, exciting reunion . My mother called their names over and over and ran from one to the other, holding him and kissing him. My father shook their hands and gave each one the abrazo. They had to kneel for Ultima’s blessing of safe return. Each one took turns picking up Deborah, Theresa or me and dancing around the kitchen floor with us. They brought us gifts.
My father opened a bottle of whiskey and they all drank as men, and my mother and Ultima set about to making dinner. I had never experienced such happiness as the homecoming of my brothers.
Then in the middle of her cooking my mother sat and cried, and we all stood by quietly. She cried for a long time, and no one, not even Ultima, made a move to touch her. Her body heaved with choking sobs. She needed to cry. We waited.