Word was sent to Esperanza’s house where her mother was summoned to the town square. The young boy was being fed and cared for after his tiring journey. Esperanza’s mother arrived with a hundred questions for the boy. Were there only two boys? Were they alive? Did he see the children himself?
The mother couldn’t contain her anxiety as she prodded the boy for answers. The young boy was saddened to have to report the details of the children. They were found on the riverbank, entangled among driftwood, both swollen from many days of death and exposure to the elements. He brought with him a piece of the swaddling cloth that was wrapped around one of the children. Esperanza’s mother let out a cry of pain at the sight of the cloth. She instantly recognized it as a small blanket she had given the babies.
The questioning turned to asking if there was a mature woman ever found in those parts and if there was news of a third little boy.
The boy explained the circumstances whereby it was his uncle who was by the river and discovered the children. The villagers came to the site and assisted in the rummaging through the driftwood to be certain there were no other items or casualties, the boy continued.
He reported that the little bodies were promptly interred in the local cemetery and that a mass was recited for their innocent souls. Again, Esperanza’s mother asked if there was any word of a young woman, a stranger to those parts, ever mentioned by anyone. The boy assured her he had heard no mention of such a person. With the young boy’s mission accomplished, he was going to return home. He had been gone five days and was concerned that his people would start to worry. It was then that Esperanza’s mother told the boy she would accompany him to his home; she needed to feel as much as she could about her daughter and grandchildren.
They set off along the riverside road, stopping at the little villages along the way to get water and some food that was customary to give strangers passing through.
At each stop, she would ask if anyone had seen or heard of a young woman who might have passed through. The answer in each case was a stern no.
Arriving at the boy’s village, she felt an eerie chill that signaled some part of her soul was nearby. She was introduced to the uncle who had discovered the bodies. She asked him if one of the children had deformed feet, but he could only answer no with a sad expression.
“They had been exposed to the elements,” he said, and he could only hang his head in sorrow for the poor woman’s plight.
She then asked to visit the cemetery where her little boys were buried, and the old uncle escorted her out to the edge of town. As she arrived, she fell to the ground next to the little graves and wept out loud. The pain that was coursing through her body was intense, as was the guilt for having shunned the innocent babies. It was a guilt she would never be able to escape. She asked to be escorted out to the riverbank where the babies were found, and there again, she cried out to the skies above for forgiveness. It was all she had left to give.
She was then walked back to the young boy’s home where she was shown a place to rest before heading back to her village of Rayon. That night, she was unable to arrive at a sound sleep as she tossed and turned about on the cot. Finally falling to sleep, she was awakened by a wailing cry off in the distance.
It sounded very close to human crying, but she shook it off as some lone coyote celebrating the night’s kill.
My nana stopped speaking and told me she was tired and needed a nap. I was still spellbound by the tale that she had just told me, but I gave her a small kiss on the forehead as she lay down, and I said my goodbye.
I headed back home for my mother’s dinnertime burgers and kept the medallion a secret from my family members. I had a great hiding spot out in my yard where it was kept, never even mentioning the medallion to my friends or Blackie.
I figured that keeping this part of the story a secret would protect my sanity and prevent others from pestering me to see it. I had not yet learned of the power this medallion held and figured I would probably end up selling it for the silver and jewels.
Never in a million years would I ever know the significance or the importance of having this relic in my possession.
Chapter 21
The Desert Inn Hotel
Walking home from school in mid-September, we rounded the corner onto the street where the old dance hall came into view. To our amazement, there were many construction-type machines that had taken up positions around the building. We commented to one another, though neither one of us had any idea of what was going on. Nicky’s dad had mentioned to him something about a hotel that might be going in eventually, but not for some time. We approached the front of the building and stood there watching as some bulldozers crashed into one side of the building, bringing it down with a loud crash and stirring up huge clouds of dust.
It was then that I caught sight of Mr. Jamison, the man whom we had met months ago when he came to look over the building. He recognized me and said that the old dance hall would soon be a part of history and that a fancy new hotel would soon stand in its place. My friends and I stood for a while, and maybe we were a little saddened at the sight. It was, after all, part of our hood and property they were taking from us.
With each swing of the wrecking ball against those old walls was a loud crash that followed, and I have to admit, I liked the concept of destruction. We all decided to head home for a snack and to set ourselves down to knock out the homework that was a pain in the ass. Many thoughts raced through my mind about the old building, but most of all, I thought of the unexplained slam I heard when we first broke into the place. What was it or, better yet, who was it?
That night at dinner, I was confronted by my dad as to where I went when I was in Mexico. I started to suspect he had gotten wind of my excursion to the country club and possibly the old dance hall. I couldn’t lie to him, so I shamefully admitted going up to the old hall. He prodded me for details, but I didn’t offer much and certainly not the part about having seen the image of a tall dark stranger.
He gave me that stare that indicated to me that he knew I wasn’t letting out the whole story.
My old nana couldn’t keep her trap shut and threw me under the bus to my dad. Years later, I came to learn that they knew things I didn’t, and it was then that they had really become concerned for my welfare. After dinner, my dad turned on the television right at news time, which was like clockwork every night with him.
Bulletin: Two teenaged girls found brutally murdered on the west side of town.
One girl was found on the riverbed sand, and another girl discovered on the stone table where the statues of Jesus and his apostles had their “last supper.” These statues still exist below the Congress Street bridge. The area is called the Garden of Gethsemane, which I believe Google has a site for them as they look today. They looked the same fifty years ago as well, but without the brick floors, walls, and fencing. They were just out there in the dirt on the riverbank. On the opposite side of this display on the opposing bank stood the old dance hall.
Back then, there was no fence, and people moved about the area freely. This area also had a statue of Jesus on the cross and still does to this day. As miscreants, my fellows and any other fellows who came around never bothered this area. We respected the reverence of it all, and though we were jokers, this area was off-limits.
Throughout the years, as moral compasses became more lax and disrespectful, vandalism reared its ugly head. Hands, noses, and heads of the statues have had to be restored from time to time due to the new breed of assholes who were coming up in the ranks. My group of guys always swore that if we ever caught someone in the act of defiling the statues, we would drag them over to the swampy area and let them feel some quicksand for a while until we feel we had scared the shit out of them. Now there had been murders on the site.
Someone had now placed a mutilated and defiled teenaged girl on the “last supper” table; this was beyond sacrilege. This