“Come on, slow poke, help me.”
“It’s Buti’s turn,” complained Lupita.
“You just mind. Forget Buti.”
“It’s not my turn. Wake Buti.”
Trini knew it was impossible to wake Buti. “You know that takes forever. You can have double pinole this morning if you help.”
Lupita followed Trini to where the cannisters were kept. Rinsed the day before, they now had to be scrubbed shining clean. The girls rolled them to the pump and scrubbed them until they shone, glinting in the sun. They left the cannisters out to dry and ran back into the house. The water was boiling. The kitchen was sunny and quiet. Papá was looking for Tía Pancha. In San Mateo there was snow in early spring. José Mario had talked about it when he left in late winter, promising to come back in late spring. Trini had never seen snow, for the sun shone the whole year round in Batopilas. The change of seasons came in colors, in harvests, and in winds. No Sabochi, no Papá, no El Enano, only Tonio. But then, she thought in all fairness, he makes us laugh.
Sometimes, Tonio would let Buti ride across the valley on his buckboard. She stirred the atole, wondering if Tonio would remember his promise, to take them to the river today. He had been full of jokes, and songs, and teasings all week. Now as he poured the milk he sang:
“En tus ojos tiembla mi destino. Y mi suerte en labios tan divinos…”
His voice was clear and strong, and Trini knew why he was singing. The weekend was at hand. Every Saturday morning he would leave, racing his wagon and shouting to Sarif, “Yuyuyuyuyuyu—ho!” He would return the same way, late Sunday night, hollering and singing his way across the valley. Sarif liked his singing, Tonio claimed, and he would do anything to keep his horse happy. Every Monday morning, he would grin sheepishly at Trini, eyes twinkling on a handsome face and exclaim, “I’m back.”
He was so silly. Probably feeling guilty for locking them up like that. Tonio came into the kitchen whistling the love song.
“Chinita, you kids ready to go?”
He hadn’t forgotten! He had been a slave driver all week. Every afternoon they had cleaned lentils and beans to store. They had dried chile and sacked it in the shed.
“Buti!” Tonio’s shout filled the kitchen.
“He’s asleep.”
“Not anymore, he’s not.” Tonio made his way into the next room and hustled Buti out of bed. They wrestled playfully on the petate. Buti’s muffled laughter rang out, “Hey, Tonio, awwwww, cut it out!” Tonio came into the kitchen pushing Buti in front of him. Buti’s tousled head looked up at Tonio with evident worship as he scratched his belly button, then rubbed his eyes.
“Go wash,” Tonio ordered.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Go!”
Buti reluctantly made his way to the pump as Trini poured the hot, steaming atole in bowls and set the warm tortillas on the table. Tonio was full of plans. “We’ll swim out to the grotto.” The grotto was hidden behind cascading waters about two miles down the river, close to the grazing grounds. It was a favorite place of Sabochi’s. Trini and Sabochi had swum out beyond the waterfall many times. Now Tonio was giving her orders to take food along, for he planned to stay until the sun went down. The children ate in silence, anticipating the coming excursion. After eating, Tonio went to saddle Sarif for deliveries while Trini and the little ones quickly tidied up the kitchen.
The rest of the morning hummed for Trini. The river! The sweep of river light, the murmurs, the silence, all were familiar, happy things to Trini. By noon, the day’s heat quivered on the ground, and the sound of Tonio’s wagon returning drew the children out into the yard. Trini stood watching from the doorway, catching the flash of Tonio’s smile in the sun.
“Ready!” His shout resounded in the hills.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Buti and Lupita scampered into the buckboard. Tonio jumped off to help Trini into the seat beside him. Then he turned the buckboard around and coursed the path that led to the east hill.
“I can swim all the way out to the rocks!” boasted Buti, his eyes gleaming, his body squirming on the wagon floor. Lupita was leaning her head out on the side of the wagon as she shouted, “Hear the river! Hear the river!”
Yes, Trini could hear the singing currents. Halfway into the valley the rumble of the wagon melted into the distant roar of a waterfall. Her hand clutched the edge of the seat. Tonio was racing Sarif as usual, Buti and Lupita screaming their delight.
“What’s the matter, chinita?” Tonio asked Trini. She felt his eyes on her. “You’re so quiet.”
“Do I have to shout like a child?” Her voice mustered a little dignity, but she felt the warmth of blood rushing to her face. He grinned, then let out a howl, “Yaaaaaaa!”
There he goes again, thought Trini, he’s a coyote. The howl bounced from hill to hill. He was teasing again, so she calmly and deliberately raised her chin and looked out toward a valley that lay deep and wide in greens. They were on a road made by goat tracks, and the sound of water clung in the air. The edge of the river had broken the land; a quiet streamlet had pushed the land to reach the river again. Next came the hill washed clean by flows of water pouring from secret recesses and, beyond that, a small waterfall hiding the grotto.
Tonio stopped by the streamlet’s edge; the children scrambled off the wagon, running off to play and splash in the water. Trini waited primly for Tonio to help her down. She gave him her hand, but he grabbed her by the waist and swung her around.
“Put me down, Tonio!”
“OK, OK . . .”
Her feet were on the ground again. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she ran off to join the others at the water’s edge where Buti and Lupita had already peeled off their clothes and were busy watching bees among the rose laurels that lined the water’s edge.
“Don’t go out too far,” warned Trini. “The current’s strong.”
She sat down under a palo verde to watch. Tonio was behind her.
“Going in, chinita?”
“In a little bit . . .”
“I’ll take them out,” Tonio offered as he took off his shirt. He waded the long curve of the stream where it met the river, then motioned the children to follow him. She watched him dive into the deeper water then come up for air as the children made their way to him.
“Come on, Trini . . .” Tonio’s voice was like an echo, teasing.
“I’ll sit here for a while.”
Her voice sounded tight. From that distance, she could not see Tonio’s grin, but she knew that he was grinning and why. I hate him, she fumed. He knew that she was too shy to undress before him. Somehow she could no longer be as free and open as Buti and Lupita. Tonio did not press. He dove into the river water again, and the children followed. Soon they had disappeared around the curve of the hill. She would go into the water when she was good and ready. She would do it privately and alone. The aloneness was nice. She looked up at tree branches that swayed a message—No more, Sabochi; no more, Sabochi. Her throat closed, and she felt the coming tears. No, I’m not going to cry, she told herself.
She found a secluded spot among the laurels and took off the hilpa. Then she went into the water. The sun played its flame on slow ripples dimpled in light. Soft and gentle, the water carried Trini with the pull of the current. The flow of water from the hill filled her with excitement. The thought of a departed Sabochi left her, and she became part of rushing rhythms that wildly filled the splendid, shadowy silence. Far off she heard Tonio and the children laughing and shouting. They had probably reached the grotto, and soon they would start