The words opened a flood of disbelief in the children, and they ran and wrapped themselves around Sabochi’s legs. They began to cry.
“Here, here,” Sabochi’s voice was firm. “That’s not the way to say goodbye for a little while.”
“When will you be back? When?” the children demanded with begging sobs. “When?”
“When my heart is hungry to see your faces.”
“I don’t believe you!” Trini felt a lostness in her own voice. Sabochi drew her to him, demanding softly, “You must believe.”
The neighing of the horses struck their ears. They sensed the nearing storm. Sabochi led the way with wide strides, holding the horses with a sure hand. The path opened onto a wide area of trees leading to the main road into Batopilas, away from the valley of Bachotigori. They could see the valley below them cast in the greyness of the storm. Lupita began to cry openly as Buti ran to Sabochi, clutching the bottom of the tilma that covered Sabochi’s groin. The little boy was begging. “We go with you, please, please.”
The thunder and lightning were now directly overhead. Sabochi picked up Buti, looking into the little boy’s face, “Be strong, little man.” He put Buti down, then picked up Lupita, putting his cheek against the little girl’s hair. “Mind your sister, pollito.” Lupita hugged and kissed him. He put her down, urging, “Go, go now!”
He stirred them down the path and watched them run. The sound of the little ones’ voices came back in chorus as thunder struck again.
“Goodbye, Sabochi; goodbye, Sabochi; goodbye, Sabochi!”
The children ran and slipped, and picked themselves up on the path, still calling out, “Goodbye, Sabochi; goodbye, Sabochi; goodbye, Sabochi,” almost as if the echo of their voices would drown out the thunder itself. Trini did not follow the children. There was a ringing of her senses that touched every fiber of her body. She threw her arms around his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, holding him without words, until the lightning flamed behind the ravine across the way. She looked up into his face, wishing to find something…
She wanted to shout at him, “I’m a woman! A woman! Take me with you.” She ached with the wanting. But there were no words. She touched his face, thirsting not to forget—line of jaw, the gentle mouth, the eyes so full of the universe. He had filled her life with wonder, and now he would be gone. She closed her eyes with the torment of the thought and let her head fall on the warmth of his chest. There she stopped to capture the new sensations she felt. She looked up again, wishing to find a revelation on his face, but saw only concern, kind and full of the love he felt for all of them. She had been his child for too long. His face told her that. But something in the tremble of his touch as he took her face to look into her eyes spoke of an unreached promise, a feeling growing . . . Was she imagining? Tasting her new sensation, she whispered:
“I love you, Sabochi. I love you so.”
He held her close against his heart, his eyes clouded in a new confusion. His voice was sad, without passion. “I know.”
What did he know? Where was the man wanting a woman? Sabochi was speaking to the child that he loved. She pulled away almost in anger, shouting against the thunder, “I love you like a woman loves a man!”
Again, the new confusion filled Sabochi’s face. But it was full of pain, of question. All was unripe, untested. He could not accept. He was not ready to believe. His voice was serious, “What can I say?”
“Tell me that you love me, Sabochi, the way I love you!”
“I have always loved you, pollito.”
“You know that’s not what I mean!” The savagery of her voice made him draw her to him. Her breath came short in the tightness of his grasp. He held her close and she would not let go until the lightning struck dangerously near.
He held her at arms length and whispered to the rhythm of rain torrents, “Grow in stillness, little woman, grow in stillness.” Then he turned her away from him and bid, “Go, go now.”
She could do no more. She started down the path and did not look back. Her body staggered, her heart staggered as lightning charged the sky one more time. The rain was falling hard. Its excitement was her excitement. She opened her mouth to breathe in the wetness of the world, the discovery of herself, the greyness of a world empty of a Sabochi that would always be the thunder and the lightning in her life. The excitement grew as if the world were opening up to strange, terrible things, with such beauty! A gash of some glorious, bright wound, magestic, free.
Trini had been sleeping next to an open window. She stretched, her body feeling the sunrise as the first light lent its pinks to darkness. The smell of night still clung to the breath of green things. She opened her eyes to notice that the leaves of the palos verdes outside the window were more than a shadow now. In half dream and half wakefulness, Trini heard the sharp and rhythmic sweep of an ax. Does Tonio ever sleep? He was already cutting wood in the yard. She did not like getting up so early to fix the morning meal, but if she lingered any longer, Tonio would come in and tease her. She leaned over Lupita’s petate and shook her little sister. “Wake up!”
Lupita turned a tousled head and opened one eye. “It’s night.”
“Be quiet. You want him to catch us sleeping when he comes in with the milk?”
Lupita turned her back on Trini again and mumbled, “Tonio, Tonio, always complaining about Tonio.”
Trini turned her sister over with some effort, shaking her again. Lupita fluttered an eyelid and attempted to sit up, only to fall back on the petate with her back to Trini again. “I can’t wake up.”
Trini slapped the humped buttocks. Now Lupita sat up with a start, rubbing her eyes. “You’re mean.” The eyes closed again as she held out a hand. “Gimme . . .”
“Get your own clothes.” Trini was drawing an hilpa over her head. Lupita waited, humped, eyes closed, hands grasping at empty air.
“Bueno, you baby.” An hilpa landed on Lupita’s face. With eyes still closed, Lupita drew it over her head.
Trini made her way to the kitchen door. She opened the door slightly to see if Tonio were in sight. Her nostrils caught the smell of dew-wet earth and grass. Light glistened on tiny raindrops riding the veins of giant leaves on a tree just outside the door. The world was sensitized in a clean half darkness. No Tonio in sight. He must be milking Chula; good! She made her way to the pump. Lupita was behind her. Barefoot, the two girls walked into the yard. Trini felt the coolness of the early morning breeze as she pumped water into Lupita’s cupped hands. The little girl splashed her face and hair, water running down her neck and wetting her hilpa. She ran back into the house dripping wet as Trini put her head under the pump and let the water run cold against her skin and hair. Its shock chilled her for a second, then the water became a soothing, fresh touch. She ran back into the kitchen to find Lupita vigorously rubbing her face with a piece of bleached burlap. She handed it to Trini who rubbed her own face and hair, feeling the warm tingle of awakened blood.
She made a mental note of things. Put water on the stove for atole, heat the corn tortillas from the day before, and if there were leftover milk . . . a treat, pinole from Batopilas! Tonio had brought some the Monday after his paranda. Parandero! Trini felt resentment rising. Tonio and his weekends in town! Sabochi had never locked them up in the house for the weekends as Tonio did. Papá had gone to San Mateo to look for his sister. He would bring her back to take the place of their mother. Meanwhile, Tonio was in charge. Tonio in charge—he worked everybody to death! Then, on weekends, he was off with his drinking and his women. He doesn’t